


Chivalry Isn't Dead, It Just Joined the Dark Side

by frackin_sweet, hato



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Crack, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fun, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Renaissance Faires, Romance, Slow Burn, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2018-05-24 00:04:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 88,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6134596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frackin_sweet/pseuds/frackin_sweet, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hato/pseuds/hato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten weeks of summer. A hundred renaissance enthusiasts/cosplay types/hippies. Three lost souls. One paraplegic Corgi. </p><p>Hear ye, hear ye, all are welcome! Gird up your chain mail, grab a turkey leg, and let's get weird at the Takodana Renaissance Faire!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (this is what you get when Hato lets me write the summary. Love you old thing :)
> 
> Please note, rating is currently suitable for all audiences but it will go up, and we will make note of that when it happens.
> 
> We're going to try to stick to a weekly posting schedule, with this first one including the prologue. We hope you enjoy!

**XOXOXOX**

_Prologue_

 

Kylo Ren is covered in blood and grime. 

 

He is surrounded by men and women in archaic armor and ratty furs, dirt and sweat and blood matting the hair and smearing the metal. He can feel the heat of burning buildings just a few yards away. Dogs are howling. There is shouting and screaming. 

 

The clash of steel on steel rings in his ears.

 

Someone rushes past him, wildly swinging a longsword toward his middle. Kylo deflects it easily enough. The man- blonde hair twisted into rough braids that hang down to his waist- slashes with a backhand. Kylo sidesteps and moves in for a thrust. His attacker parries, sword sliding all the way down to Kylo’s crossguard, jarring his hand. Kylo frowns as he quickly adjusts his stance, pivots into a drop, and smacks the flat of his blade across the back of the man’s knees. Very. _Very_. Hard. The man buckles immediately, hitting the ground in a curled ball. 

 

“ Cut! Cut! What the hell was that, Ren?” The director screams into the bullhorn. Someone in the background is calling for the medics and the pyrotechnics team starts discussing if they need to extinguish the gas bars, or let them burn into the next take

 

Kylo watches as two medics scamper onto the set and begin examining the man he just stunned. The star of this particular display of historical inaccuracy. A star. What a joke. Kylo sheathes his sword and turns to face the director who is only a few angry steps away. “ I’m curious, too. What the hell was that?” He whips his head back around to address the actor on the ground.” That is not how we rehearsed.” 

 

The actor groans and curses. Kylo snarls in disgust. 

 

The director looks like he might literally explode from anger. He mumbles to his PA, “ Half hour break, “ and the PA makes the announcement to cast and crew as the director sidles in close to Kylo. “ This is the last time. I’m calling your manager, Ren.” He grinds out under his breath. 

 

The medics roll the prima donna onto a stretcher and carry him off. 

 

Kylo smirks. “ Please do. And make sure to let Snoke know that your star’s showboating could have very well have cost me a hand! “ He decides he’s done talking to this moron and walks away, ignoring the general chaos behind him. They need him. First Order Entertainment needs him. Fight coordinators of his quality are hard to come by outside of Hong Kong and they all know it.

 

Kylo is the best.

 

He’s the best, but in less than a week, he’ll be on the road again. Headed back to the dreadful renaissance faire circuit with all the amateurs. And no amount of apologizing or playing nice or good behavior is going to stop it so why fucking bother? 

 

Kylo kicks over the remains of a burning hut and laughs at the uproar he leaves behind. 

 

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

Finn holds himself straight, chin up, hands held loosely behind his back. He stands before a desk, in what was once a very nice single-wide, waiting not so patiently for the man behind the desk to decide his fate. 

 

“ Captain Phasma tells me your gear is adequate.” Brendan Hux does not look up from his laptop as he speaks. The bluish light casts an unflattering glow on his pale skin and limp strawberry blonde hair. His soft looks are at odds with the almost brittle, militant attitude. “ And that you are not entirely useless in the ring.”

 

“ Thank you, sir.” Finn barely nods his head in response. He can do this. He _will_ get this job. He simply has to stand here quietly, in this over air conditioned monstrosity of a trailer, and make a good impression on this anal-retentive ringmaster. Seriously, the AC must run full blast 24/7. Finn’s sweat soaked t-shirt feels absolutely clammy against his skin. 

 

Hux continues typing in the silence, eyes glued to his screen, Finn obviously not worth his undivided attention. Or even the small amount required for standard civility. Finn can see himself reflected in the laptop’s shiny metal casing. Dark skin, closely cropped hair, broad features fixed into a show of stoicism. Wide shoulders and narrow waist, evidence of his training. Above average for a typical guy. About average for a working knight. 

 

After another moment the printer nearby begins humming angrily, startling Finn from his self-absorbed reverie. A few pages slip out and Hux lays them very precisely into the basket on his flawless desk. “ We need someone on watch at the south gate. Report to Captain Phasma this Saturday, 6 am sharp.” 

 

“ But, sir! I-” 

 

“ Send the next one in. ” 

 

“... Yes, Mr. Hux.” Finn knows when he’s been dismissed. And when he shouldn’t argue. He won’t be doing himself any favors if he gets fired before his first day. Finn turns on heel and exits the trailer, the heat immediately slapping him in the face. Even this early in the summer the humidity is unpleasant, thawing his cold sweat. He holds the door open for the next interviewee, an older woman with a thick aura of kindness and patchouli. Finn hopes she’ll be okay in there. He doubts Hux will be impressed by her smile any more than her basketry. 

 

Outside the dull black and silver oversized crate, in full sight of the noonday sun, is a line of potentials hoping to be hired on for the season. Finn met a few during his initial interview with Captain Phasma, the woman in charge of anyone hoping to wear a suit of armor or hold a weapon. There’s Nelson, with violently red hair and impeccable swordplay. And the archer, Zachary, who seemed overly eager to share how he came by a large scar streaking across his brown cheek. And Slipman, aka Slips, with little more than a strong desire to please and a simple-boy-next-door thing going for him.

 

They stand together in a little clump near the middle of the line. Slips spots Finn and waves. Nelson and Zachary look up and motion for him to join them. “ Hey, Finn! How’d it go?” Nelson seems to be the natural born spokesman of the group. 

 

Finn should stop and talk with the young men, take the opportunity to make some new friends. “ Good. I’ll be taking it easy while you guys are getting pummelled every hour.” Instead, he laughs it off, returning the friendly wave and continuing on his way toward the campground. He needs to check his gear and move his car to a shadier spot, or the residual heat will make sleep impossible tonight. The thought of another night in the sweltering little tent brings the beginnings of a headache to his temples. 

 

He can try to make friends later. First, he needs to improve his living circumstances before opening day.

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

Rey isn’t exactly sure of where she is. 

 

She’s been hitching east for the past couple of weeks, making her way along I-70 for no reason other than it’s the opposite direction of home. She passed through Terra Haute two days ago, the trucker much less sketchy than the last three and generous with his snacks. The last person to pick her up had been an elderly woman on her way to visit a cemetery in Cloverdale. Rey had politely declined a ride home with the woman, not that she didn’t trust her, but Rey didn’t want to backtrack a hundred miles just for the sake of a ride. The woman had given her a few dollars and Rey thanked her profusely before picking up and heading back toward the interstate. 

 

She walked I-70 for a day and a half, visiting the assorted gas stations and fast food chains at the exits when she got too hot or hungry. And now she’s here, hoping to scrounge up enough money for another meal because if she doesn’t eat more than crackers and ketchup she’ll never make it into the next big city where she has better chance of surviving than out here in this no-woman’s land. 

 

Although, there’s quite a bit of traffic coming this way for so early on a Saturday morning in the middle of nowhere. Not that anyone’s stopped to offer her a ride. 

 

Looking at her faded and wrinkled map, Rey assumes she’s just outside of Indianapolis. The exit ramp had a number, but no name, and when she reaches the top of the overpass there is simply a long stretch of road with cornfields running along both sides. Obviously, this is one of those itty bitty towns with a single stop sign and a brand new Sonic and nothing else. Maybe not even the Sonic. 

 

Rey stares left and right. At first glance there’s not much difference, but on further scrutiny of the left- away from the glaring sun and in the direction most of the cars are choosing-, there seems to be a few structures in the distance, clustered together. Even a wisp of smoke rising from one. 

 

It smells oh so slightly of grilled meat…

 

That decides it. Rey hefts her sack and quick-marches toward the scent of burgers and BBQ. Restaurants and bars mean full dumpsters and a better chance of making some cash. 

 

If she’s exceptionally lucky, she’ll find a ride into the city, too.

 

 

**Chapter 1: Opening Day**

 

This bar’s dumpster hasn’t been a great success, because apparently they pour mostly drafts. Rey throws a leg over the side and gets ready to jump down.

 

“Shit.” The Hefty bag full of aluminum cans bursts open, dumping them all over blacktop so hot it’s gooey. A small cloud of bees appears almost immediately and begins feeding on the days-old residue of Mountain Dew, Coke and root beer.

 

Rey bats at a couple that try to feed on whatever grossness is trickling down her leg. “Ugh, disgusting.” Not that she was powder-fresh to begin with. She gathers the cans into a pile and wipes her hands on her shorts before heading for the bar’s back service entrance.

 

At the screened door she can see into a dim, tiled hallway. “Hello?” she calls. Glasses clink and water splatters against metal somewhere in the middle distance.

 

After a moment, a tiny woman of indeterminate old age and obvious myopia shuffles to the door. “Was that you, out scavenging in my dumpster?” she asks without preamble.

 

Rey isn’t used to getting caught, and she looks down contritely. “I’m sorry. I was just looking for cans. You wouldn’t happen to have any inside, would you?”

 

“I don’t. Because we recycle and the truck came yesterday.” The little woman adjusts a pair of thick-lensed glasses. “Hard way to make a living, kid.”

 

Rey shrugs. “It’s only temporary. If you don’t have any, maybe just a garbage bag?” She gestures towards the sad pile of cans. “Mine broke.”

 

Abruptly, the door creaks open and almost smacks her. “Well, you win the prize for saddest specimen to dive my dumpster in recent days,” the woman chuckles. “Get in here. Rest room’s on the left, clean yourself up and don’t make a mess. Meanwhile, I’ll see if I don’t have something that might help you out a little.”

 

Rey shoulders her backpack and heads for the little unisex restroom. It’s not unclean, as bar restrooms go, and she’s able to scrub off the last few day’s worth of sweat and grime with cold water and lemony soap before heading out into the main room.

 

There’s one guy sort of propping himself up against one end of the bar, and he takes no notice of her. The rickety plank tables are empty of all but citronella candles, and one tempting plate. A burger, lopsided with pickles and bacon, lolls over into a big pile of fries that still smell like peanut oil. Rey’s stomach growls loudly.

 

“Welcome to The Castle!” Her benefactress grins, shuffling over with a tall, moisture-beaded glass.

 

A gulp proves it to be iced tea, and maybe it’s the caffeine that makes Rey remember how the world works. “Um. I’ve got four bucks to my name right now, so thanks for the food, but-“ she pushes the plate away. “I can’t afford -”

 

“What’s your name?” The woman pushes the plate back at her.

 

“Uh.” Rey tries to keep eye contact and not look down at the plate again. “It’s Rey.”

 

The woman nods in a satisfied way. “Well I’m Maz, and this is my bar, and that’s my food. So eat up.”

 

Rey takes a deep breath, and then renounces eight months of vegetarianism with zero regret. She’s about halfway through the burger before she notices Maz is still watching her. “The Castle, huh?” She looks around the bar, which has a dart board on one wall, jukebox against another and a scratched pool table in the corner. A couple of bras hang from a set of haphazardly mounted antlers, and a Yuengling sign blinks behind the bar. “It’s nice.”

 

Maz beams. “But not particularly castle-ish, you’re thinking,” she says. Before Rey can reply, she continues. “It’s because of the renfaire next door. Staff likes to come here after hours.” She crosses her arms. “You know, they’re probably still hiring. After you eat, you go over there. Ask for Leia Organa. She’ll hook you up with something that’ll keep you out of dumpsters for a few weeks. And they let staff camp for free on the grounds.”

 

Rey pictures knights and lords and ladies and a lot of methinks and forthwith and duels and heaving cleavage. She licks some ketchup off her fingers, but resists the urge to lick the plate. “Okay. Thanks, Maz, I’ll do that.”

 

When she fishes her four bucks out of a pocket, Maz waves it off. “On the house. Once you’re settled, come back with friends, that’ll pay me back.” She heads back behind the bar, where the top of her head barely clears the tall counter.

 

The peaked rooftops and fluttering pennants of the Takodana Renaissance Faire can be seen from the front door of The Castle. Rey skirts a cornfield and heads through a dusty parking area until she comes to the turrets of the main gate.

 

A bored looking guy in a hat with a wilted feather raises an eyebrow when she asks for Leia Organa, then gets on a radio that seems rather anachronistic clipped onto his velvet breeches. He ushers Rey inside the gate and over to a thatched hut. “Wait here.”

 

Rey watches, rapt, as acrobats do flips and handsprings to the applause of a few people in costumes. Snatches of song waft across the village commons, and a fellow in a kilt strolls by playing the bagpipes. Then a suit of armour near the hut suddenly moves, and Rey almost screams. A quick glance reveals a walking stick leaning against the wall, and she grabs it and brandishes it at the suit. “Watch yourself!”

 

The helmet’s visor flips up and reveals huge, apologetic brown eyes set in a sweaty face. “Hey, it’s okay! I didn’t mean to startle you!” The armour clangs as hands extend towards her, palms up. “I’m just doing my job.”

 

“Which is what, scaring people to death? Halloween’s a few months away, buddy.” Rey’s heartbeat slows down at how earnest the guy sounds. She watches as he works off one of his gloves and mops his face. “Jesus, you must be dying of heat in that suit.”

 

“You have no idea.” He pulls off his helmet and sets it down. “Can you reach that canteen of water over there?”

 

Rey grabs what looks like an animal-hide bottle off a nearby table and hands it over. “So your job is standing around in armour in the summer sun? Or are you being punished for something?”

 

He pours some of the water over his face and then finishes drinking. “That’s my job, and yes, it pretty much feels like punishment.” He shakes water off his hair and smiles. “Name’s Finn. The faire’s not officially open until tomorrow. What are you doing here?”

 

“I’m Rey, and somebody sent me over to look for a job,” she looks around, and the feather-hat guy is nowhere to be seen. “Do you know who Leia Organa is?”

 

Finn shakes his head. “Not a clue. Some guy named Hux hired me. Had kind of a military vibe and a shitty personality. Then I tried out for the jousting knights and this scarily perfect blonde named Phasma, the head knight, didn’t like my horsemanship. Which is actually understandable, because I’d never been on one before. Most of the people here are great, though.”

 

Finn’s head turns, and Rey follows his gaze to see one of the faire performers in full garb, in this case a brown-and-orange jacket and those stripey pantaloons she’s pretty sure no one in the middle ages actually wore. He has a lute strapped across his back, and he unslings it as he approaches.

 

“Good knight! From whence hast thou procured yon fair maiden? I shall sing an ode to her many charms!” He strums the lute theatrically and takes a deep breath.

 

“That’s Poe,” Finn says to Rey. “You’ll get used to him. Maybe.”

 

“Have you seen my lady fair,

oh she of raven thrice-bunned hair?

I seek her in taverns, shoppes, and inns,

Alas, do I find her, malingering with Finn!”

 

“That kind of sucks,” Finn offers.

 

“You offend me, you loiter-sack, you saddle-goose!” Poe shoots back. “Perhaps I shall challenge you to do battle with the sword! And we shall see if the cock is worth his crow!”

 

Rey snorts. This guy, at least, seems to know his way around. “Hey, Poe, I’m supposed to see Leia Organa about a job. Know who that is?”

 

“Dost I know who that is? Dost I _know_ , good maiden -”

 

“In English, please. Modern, American English, if possible.”

 

“Yeah, she doesn’t have all day,” Finn adds. “This is Rey, Poe.”

 

Poe heaved a put-upon sigh and stopped strumming. “Oh, fine. I’d be hurt, but I understand not everybody totally _gets_ the immersive faire experience.” He shakes hands with Rey. “And yeah, I know Leia. If you’re asking for her, I’m guessing Maz Kanata sent you.”

 

Rey nodded. “I met her at The Castle earlier.”

 

Poe gives her a once-over that comes across as curious rather than predatory. “Let me guess, fell off the music-festival circuit due to lack of funds?” He smiles. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not criticizing. That’s how half the staff ends up here.”

 

Rey looks down at her old lace-up boots and cutoffs, and hopes the dumpster evidence on her tank top isn’t too obvious. “Good guess, but I was following Jedi Exile on their farewell tour. Ran out of money around St. Louis, so, yeah. Here I am.”

 

“Well, it’s good that Maz steered you around Hux. He’d give you some shit detail for sure.” Poe nods at Finn. “Kind of like what happened there.”

 

“He said this was all they had left if I didn’t make the joust knights!” Finn sounds put out.

 

“Right, he _would_ say that.” Poe turns to see an approaching figure. “Hey! General! Got any odd jobs for a newcomer down on her luck?”

 

Rey sees a petite woman with dark, silver-threaded hair in coiled braids coming towards them, smoking a cigarette. Her t-shirt bears a large, raised middle finger. “What’s up, Poe? I’ve got a court procession in a half-hour, so make it quick.”

 

Poe makes the introductions, and drops Maz’s name. Leia gives Rey a more critical once-over than Poe had. “So Maz pulled you out of her dumpster, eh?”

 

“I’m never going to live that down around here, am I?”

 

“Probably not, particularly if you end up hanging out at The Castle after hours like the rest of the staff.” Leia takes one last drag on her cigarette before stubbing it out. “Maz is a good judge of character, so I’m willing to take you on. You know the hours are every weekend from 10 am to 10 pm, this weekend through Labor Day, right? And the pay for a floater is $50 per day, plus tips.”

 

Rey didn’t but she nodded anyhow. “Uh huh.”

 

“And they call me General because I’m the one you come to if you have a problem, got it? Keep your head down, talk in iambic pentameter, and stay away from Brendan Hux if you can help it.”

 

“I will. General.” Rey wants to bounce, or possibly salute. This beats scavenging for aluminum by about a mile.

 

“Okay then. Let’s go find you some garb and see where I can put you.” Leia beckons. “Come on, I’m not getting any younger over here, and I still have to wrestle myself into a corset.”

 

Rey picks up her bag and follows obediently, turning to wave a farewell to Poe and Finn.

 

“Rey! Come find me afterward!” Finn calls out. “In the campground behind the Artisan’s Guild - red Jeep, blue tent, can’t miss it!”

 

“I will, see you later!” Rey yells back, picking up speed because Leia was covering the ground with great efficiency for someone so short. “And thanks!”

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

Finn smiles at her retreating back as she bounces along behind the General. She’s a nice girl. Bit quick to do violence, but, hey, everyone has their quirks. 

 

“ You’ve never invited _me_ to your tent.” 

 

Finn rolls his eyes and moves past Poe to retrieve his helmet. “ Dude, you know where my tent is.” He hopes Phasma isn’t anywhere nearby; she doesn’t take kindly to uniform infractions. 

 

“ Tis true, my brave sirrah. But, you’ve never _invited_ me.” Poe is idly strumming his lute, plucking a few odd cords experimentally. 

 

“ You’re invited, okay? Just bring food when you show up.” Finn hands the water skin to Poe, absently noting the calluses on his fingers from his instrument of choice, and tugs his helmet back into place. He tilts the visor up. “ And ice. Forget the food, just bring ice.” 

 

Poe chuckles. “ Preference noted.” He straightens up, swinging the lute around to rest against his back again, and returns the water skin to Finn. “ I’d better get back to the arena before opening. Always get the best tips right before the tournaments begin.” 

 

“ I’ve got to get back to work, too.”

 

“ Impersonating a roast turkey?” Poe’s deadpan delivery causes Finn to quirk a smile. 

 

“ I believe the term is gatehouse guard.” Finn shrugs inside his layer of sweat and armor.

 

Poe slaps him on the back “ You mean mall cop. See ya, buddy!” He’s jogging off into the crowd of performers before Finn can think of a comeback.

 

“ Where’d that chick go?” 

 

Finn’s contemplation of Poe’s distant figure is interrupted by a stern drawl. He whips his head around and finds his current supervisor- feather hat guy by the name of Lars- angrily staring him down. “ She, uh, Ms. Organa came by and took her.“ 

 

“ And you didn’t tell them to wait until I got back?” Lars is so not happy. “ I’ve been running around in this heat, trying to get all this work done and no one is-”

 

Finn tunes it out and lets his vision glaze over. It’s not the first time he’s been the victim of Lars’s self-important rants. His brain offers up Bohemian Rhapsody to pass the time. 

 

What a wonderful first day… shit.

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

“You mean, most of the staff have their own costumes already?” Rey’s spirits drop considerably as she looks around the dressing tent at girls in layers of colorful skirts. Some of them wear leather cinched tightly to narrow their waists and push their breasts almost aggressively forward. Hair is braided and adorned with ribbons and flowers.

 

Leia waves a dismissive hand as she lights another cigarette. “They do, but some of these kids have been doing this for years already. Hey, everyone, listen up!” The chatter in the tent quiets somewhat in response to her command. “This is Rey, and she’s new and needs some loaner garb. Look through your stuff and help her out!”

 

In no time at all fabric comes flying Rey’s direction. “What’s she going to be, lady-in-waiting?” one girl asks. Rey realizes she has no idea what her job is, and looks to Leia.

 

Leia, hanging onto a post while someone helps tighten her corset laces, grunts. “Not… _urgh_ ...today. Need someone on the dunking booth.”

 

“Oh!” The girl smiles happily and scoops up a brown skirt with a riot of gaudy patches. “You don’t need anything fancy for _that_.”

 

Since modesty doesn’t appear to be a thing anyone is worried about, Rey strips off her shorts and tank and steps into the layers of skirts the girl, who introduces herself as Gemma, is holding. They’re too long, but Gemma knots them up on one side. “Shows more leg that way,” she says brightly.

 

“Am I supposed to show leg?”

 

Gemma steps back for a considering look. “Well, you’ve got great ones to show, so why not?” She bends down to grab a gauzy blouse and some sort vest thing with laces. “And since you’re going to spend most of the day soaking wet, I say we go with this on top.”

 

Rey eyes the blouse. “Won’t it be kind of see-through?”

 

“Not with the bodice laced over it. Try it.”

 

Rey does, and finds that Gemma is right, the bodice actually does provide a decent amount of coverage. “Okay, what next?”

 

“Um...I think your hair can stay how it is. It’s kind of unusual, but - oh!” The girl grabs a ruffly cap from the pile of clothes and settles it over Rey’s hair, pulling a few wisps forward to curl around her face. “How’s that?”

 

“Fine, I guess.” Rey wants to ask someone for a mirror but the others are all starting to queue up at one end of the tent and Gemma runs to join them. Rey feels a moment of panic. “Wait! Where am I supposed to go?”

 

Leia, now elaborately gowned and crowned, gestures with her cigarette. “Dunking boothe’s at the far end of the village common, next to the stocks. You can’t miss it.” Trumpets suddenly blare to announce the faire’s opening, and Leia waves. “Good luck, you’ll do great!”

 

True enough, Rey doesn’t miss the dunking booth. It’s sided in rough wood planks to make it look like something used for witch trials, and the brownish water inside probably came from the pond nearby. A sign proclaims “Ye Olde Dunking Boothe: Get Thee Some Balles!” Balles are apparently three for a sovereign (or dollar, for the medeivally challenged), and there is a bucket full of them nearby.

 

Rey spends the better part of the next couple of hours watching faire-goers walk by the booth. Occasionally someone shows a passing interest, but then they’re distracted by jugglers or bawdy wenches or someone hawking food on a stick, and then they’re gone. It’s a good thing she doesn’t get paid by the balle.

 

She’s relieved when a familiar face and orange breeches show up. “Poe!”

 

“Fair maiden! Rey!” Poe holds out his arms theatrically. “Thou art verily a ray of sunshine!”

 

“Seriously, Shakespeare, give it a rest.”

 

Poe looks around at the lack of customers at her booth and grins. “Nobody told you you’d have to shill, did they?”

 

“Shill?” Rey shakes her head.

 

“Y’know...entice people to come to your booth. Get them to throw, and then insult them enough to shake their concentration so they miss, get mad, and have to buy more balles?” As if to emphasize his point, Poe grabs a balle out of the bucket and whizzes it towards the target. It goes wide, and he holds out his arms as if to say _well_?

 

Okay, she can do this. “Hey, you suck! You...uh… you couldn’t hit the target with somebody else’s arm!”

 

Poe responds with a loud raspberry. “Terrible. Your customers are leaving to try their luck at the archery.”

 

“Okay, then...your mom is so ugly, her portraits hang themselves!”

 

“Better, but try again.” He holds up a cautioning finger before she could do so. “In proper Elizabethan English, you know-- _thy_ mother, etc.”

 

“Thy mother...” Rey searches her memory for the right words and her face flushes. “Alas, methinks I am shite at this.”

 

Poe shakes his head. “Nah, you’ve got the right idea,” he coaxes. “It gets easier the more you do it. Once more into the breach!”

 

Rey’s brain locks up completely. “Ugh, I feel like an idiot.”

 

Not to be so easily defeated, Poe starts strumming his lute. “Okay, here, I’m going to help you out a little. Scramble up on that platform and look like you’re ready to get wet.”

 

He launches into a lively tune and brackets each musical phrase with insults. “Ho, yon mumble-scut! Mewling puttock!” “I bite my thumb at thee, sir!” “Aye, thou, thou reeking codpiece!”

 

Rey gets her first customers thanks to Poe’s efforts, and soon is adding her own insults to his. A round of cheers goes up at her first dunking and in spite of the cold water she almost wants to cheer too.

 

Poe stays long enough to help her out of the tank to wring out her skirts. “Think you’ll be okay now?”

 

She’d forgotten to close her mouth when she got dunked, so she spits into the dirt . “Yeah, I should be fine.” Smiling, she gives him a soggy little curtsey. “Um, thou hast my deepest thanks, good sir.”

 

“I was honored to give aid, fair lady.” Poe winks and doffs his hat. “Mayhap we shall see each other anon?”

 

“Verily!” She grins at him as he wanders off singing about a milkmaid, a vicar, and a goat.

 

People are now queueing up to throw, so Rey takes their money and hands out balles before clambering back up onto the dunking platform to yell Elizabethan taunts at them. 

 

Poe is right; it does get easier the more you do it.

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

Kylo Ren is trying very hard to meditate.

 

To empty his mind of all distractions and submerge all those useless emotions. To wrap himself in cold, calculated nothingness. To be in absolute control. 

 

He’s been kneeling on the rough carpet in the tiny outdated RV for the better part of an hour and his goal remains just out of reach. 

 

Before him sits a makeshift altar comprised of a footlocker and an ornate leather case, midnight blue and sterling silver, standing open on its end. Displayed inside is a battered helmet, a visored barbute. The metal tarnished and dented, the visor broken on one side and hanging by a single hinge. There are dark stains, reminiscent of rust but much deeper, splattered along the edges. Dripping from the eyeholes. Smeared across the visor. 

 

There is a sword, as well. The hilt, at least. High quality steel beneath the burnt patina, the blade broken an inch above the simple crossguard. 

 

They belonged to his grandfather and are Kylo Ren’s most cherished possessions.

 

His grandfather had been a Hollywood legend. There wasn’t a fighting style- weapon or hand to hand- that he hadn’t mastered and made his own. He forged his own armor and weapons. Singlehanded, he raised the bar for historical authenticity and it showed prominently in the films he was involved with. There are books, articles, documentaries dedicated to Anakin Skye Walker’s glorious career. 

 

And not a single one mentions his family. 

 

Kylo tries to filter out the background noise. The A/C cutting off abruptly before roaring back to life to keep the interior temperature just bearable. Random voices and birdsong, vehicles and music punctuating the interim silence. An entire twilight world outside his trailer, going about its business in delightful ignorance. 

 

But he can’t bring about the void he needs in order to focus.

 

He stares at the helmet’s mostly intact right eye cutout and all he can feel is the itch of sweat rolling down the back of his neck, under his high collar. How his skin crawls with the unpleasant sensation as it trickles slowly down the middle of his back. The impulse to scratch. The tiny burn across the inside of his wrist. A hot spark from his forge last week bubbling the skin. The horrible carpet biting into his knees even through his jeans. All these small irritations twist together tightly like rough sisal and wraps around him. Grating his skin, rubbing him raw. And he can’t find a moment’s peace to-

 

_BenBen, have you fallen again? Let me get the antiseptic from your father…_

 

Kylo flinches. A memory of comfort, of compassion and concern. It flickers and disappears into the darkness. 

 

Before he can fully center himself again, there is a tinny knock on the trailer door. “ I don’t care what ridiculous ritual you’re in the middle of, Kylo. We have business to attend to.” Cold, satiny voice. 

 

Hux. Another irritant. Kylo grits his teeth and fists his hands on his thighs. Pointless. He carefully places his keepsakes back into their reliquary, shutting and locking the case, placing it into the footlocker and locking it, as well. He stands, stretching lightly to work out the kinks, and glances at his reflection in the bathroom door mirror. Dark jeans, dusty on the knees. Dark t-shirt, wrinkled slightly at the waist. 

 

“ Now, Kylo Ren.” Hux’s tone is not quite as smooth. Kylo scoops a boot from the floor and throws it at the door, relishing in the loud thud against the metal and Hux’s bitten off reply. “ Exactly one minute.” 

 

He pulls a smoky black button-up from a hanger and slips it over the t-shirt. Pulls on socks and black leather boots. A silver ring on his finger, a black bandana keeping his long hair off his face. A glimpse in the mirror reflects a pale ghost clad in night-time colors.

 

Immaculate. Aloof. Superior. 

 

Cold. Harsh. Ruthless.

 

Another form of armor. Different from his suit of metal, but just as functional. Particularly with the dregs on the faire circuit who avoid him whenever possible and openly cower when they can’t. 

 

Fear is power. 

 

Footsteps, two pairs, are walking away from his trailer. One is hurried, the stride uneven. Hux. The other is solid and paced as perfectly as a metronome. It has to be Phasma. 

 

Kylo wants to smile at this little victory. But he merely straightens his shirt one last time and casually makes his way to the door. 

 

 

_tbc_


	2. Opening Week Continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten weeks of summer. A hundred renaissance enthusiasts/cosplay types/hippies. Three lost souls. One paraplegic Corgi
> 
> Shocking discoveries, humorous miscommunication, and special brownies await our intrepid players as they finish out their opening day and plunge headfirst into their summer!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frack is the best. Love <3
> 
> Current content is PG-13 at best, but that will change at some point so be prepared.

**_Chapter 2: Opening Day, Part Deux and The Rest of Their Eventful Week_ **

As the hours pass, Rey gets better at shilling, in fact, so much better that she has a steady stream of customers all day. A portly fellow sweating in a velvet doublet and refers to himself as the “tax collector” comes by a couple of times to collect the money from her lockbox, and it’s a good thing because she’s making bank, or at least the dunking boothe is. And Gemma is kind enough to run by in between royal processions to give Rey an apple and a pocketful of roasted nuts. It’s all she gets to eat for the entire day.

In the evening clouds roll in to blanket the faire with a cool dampness that would feel good if she hadn’t spent most of the day soaking wet. Every single clothing seam chafes her already irritated skin, and she stops insulting the customers so heartily in hopes that they will just lose interest already.

Finally it seems that the last faire-goers have made their way towards the exit, and she heaves a huge sigh of relief as she starts to climb down from the dunking platform. A cut on her leg distracts her on the ladder for a moment, and she doesn’t notice as a trio approaches the boothe.

“Hey, you! Don’t get down! What if we feel like drenching a wench?” calls a woman’s voice.

Rey’s head whips up so fast her soggy cap falls off. She wipes the hair out of her eyes and the speaker comes into focus: a towering blond partially dressed in silver armour - this must be Phasma, the joust-captain. Next to her, standing ramrod-straight with his arms crossed, is a red-haired man in a severe but impeccably tailored dark business suit.

He frowns at Rey. “You know you can’t leave your post until your sovereigns have been counted for the day,” he says. “Were you not at orientation?”

“I didn’t see her there,” Phasma adds.

Rey wishes for a nearby lightning strike, because obviously this man is the Hux person she’s been told to avoid. “I must have forgotten. About the sovereign-counting, I mean. I’m sorry.” Hopefully contrition will appease him and he’ll move along with his companions. Hux and the woman are intimidating enough on their own, but the man slightly behind them, dressed all in black and giving Rey an intense stare, makes them look like a basket of kittens.

“Back on the platform, please.” Hux makes it very much not a request.

The breeze has picked up, and Rey shivers as she re-seats herself. Is he really going to make her sit here with no customers and the faire closing? Her skirts cling to her legs like paint, and in spite of the double layer on top she feels like she might as well be wearing gauze. Hux regards her as though he scraped her off his shoe, while Phasma grabs one of the balles and tosses it lazily from hand to hand.

“Save the entertainment for the local stoners, Hux.” The third person’s dark eyes grab Rey’s and hang on, making her again feel small and vulnerable. “I’ve got better things to do with my time.” His disinterested words are at odds with the way he looks at her, as though he’d like to slowly peel back the wet pieces of her clothing one by one, and then do the same to her skin.

Suddenly her discomfort blossoms into anger and she’s had _enough_. She climbs back up onto the platform and glares at him with a fierceness that actually makes him take a half-step back. _Let’s see how well you perform under pressure_. “Methinks thou hast little skill with the balles,” she starts, then fires at him with the worst in her arsenal. “Thou art a base, craven, dog-hearted son of a pox-marked whore!” She punctuates it with a rude gesture, just to make sure this asshole gets the message.

Energy crackles between them and Rey leans forward, ready for whatever he’s got.  
His lip curls as he picks up one of the balles. “You’re half right, actually,” he says. “About my mother, but not my skill.”

He looks away from her, already turning to go, and throws the balle.

Rey is in the water before she can even think. By the time she bobs back to the surface and catches her breath, the asshole in black is walking away. Phasma is laughing a few steps behind him, but Hux is waiting for Rey’s attention.

“Don’t let me see you breach faire protocol again,” he says ominously before following them.

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

Finn is done with opening day. Almost. 

He’s got fifteen more minutes before the gates close and he can shed this metal sauna. He doesn’t dare do it beforehand. Phasma and Hux and some other emo-guy passed through only moments before, making their rounds. Finn doesn’t feel like being on the receiving end of another verbal dressing down. 

It’s been an interesting shift. 

The highlights of his day are meeting Rey; Watching Poe’s paraplegic Corgi, BB8, wheeling around the forecourt, drawing squealing children towards the petting zoo area; And Poe himself arriving just past 2 o’clock, brandishing a smoked turkey leg for lunch. 

Otherwise, the day has been a boring shitfest of idiots and assholes and borderline heatstroke. About what Finn expected. 

A group of teenage girls walks by. Just for the hell of it, Finn whips out his sword and salutes them. They practically fall over themselves giggling. One, a brunette in a white sundress, curtsies with what little bit of material her skirt possesses. Her friends laugh even harder and are shepherded out the gate by a blonde who seems to be their designated Mother Hen, judging by her put upon expression and tired sigh. Finn smiles inside his helmet at the sight. He hasn’t had any friends since… well, ever. Too busy trying to get by, not staying anywhere long enough to get to really know anyone. 

It might be different here. Maybe. 

The girls are disappearing into the parking lot when Finn senses someone standing very close. He can smell clove oil above the background scents of sweat and smoked meats. Poe. 

“ Me thinks thou art quite brazen when it suits thee.” Poe chuckles and drags a hand through his sweaty hair. He catches sight of an elderly couple on their way to the exit and gives a deep theatrical bow with a hand flourish. “ Farewell, most gracious lord and lady! ” 

“ See ya on the morrow, good bard!” The man waves at Poe, grinning brightly with his obviously false teeth.

“ Ah, your wit, good sir! Your rapier wit! ”

“ Make sure you drink lots of water, now!” The woman shakes her finger in motherly fashion. “ And cover your head, land sakes!” 

“ Aye, good lady! I will. Adieu!” Poe bows them off, smile still stretching across his face. He keeps his eyes on the couple as he speaks to Poe. “ They’ve been here every weekend during the season, every year that I’ve been here. They do their whole wedding anniversary party here every July.” He sighs happily. “ That right there. That’s the bloody definition of relationship goals.”

Finn watches the couple through his narrow visor slits. Arm in arm, shuffling toward the parking lot. 

“ Section 3, clear.” The walkie talkie on Lars’s belt screeches to life, staff calling the all clear for their assigned areas. “ Section 5, clear.”

All six areas call in and Finn helps Lars close and lock the wooden gates. When Finn turns back around, there is a huge hairy guy talking to Poe. Finn has seen him before, one of the artisans. He’s easily 6’5” and his arm muscles are clearly bulging beneath the thick dark hair. The hair on his head is just as full, though mostly silver, and pulled back into a long ponytail. He’s wearing plain breeches and heavy boots, leather gauntlets, and a leather apron over his bare- and equally hairy- chest. 

Poe is quick to introduce them. “ Finn, this is Chewie.” He jerks his head toward Finn. “ Chewie, this is the guy interested in that ‘88 Falcon of yours.” 

Chewie extends his hand and Finn quickly gets his helmet off before accepting. His own broad palm is completely enclosed in Chewie’s. There’s a brief, but firm, handshake. Finn is still marveling at the size of the older man when he remembers his manners. “Uh, yeah. I’d like something more substantial than a tent for the summer.” 

Chewie nods in agreement. He pulls a cell phone from a hidden pocket in his apron and checks the screen. “ FiftinminitsnI’llmeetchathar.” It’s a deep bass rumble of mostly consonants.

Finn blinks. Was that… English? “ Ummm.”

“ Yeah, we’ll meet you there right after we’re done here. Thanks, man.” Poe grins up at the tall man and waves as Chewie heads out the staff door. 

As soon as Chewie is out of sight, Finn leans in to whisper, “ You understood that?” 

“It takes some getting used to.” Poe laughs. “ It is a pretty thick drawl.”

“ Pretty thick? I grew up in Georgia, drawl capital of the South! It sounded like my Grandmama without her false teeth! ” Finn rolls his eyes and punches Poe on the arm. Poe is doubled over laughing. “ Just go! I’ll be there as soon as we lock up.” 

“ Oh, gods, o-okay!” Poe regains just enough control to straighten up a bit, though he’s still a bit gaspy. ‘ Jesus, that was funny. Okay, so I’llseeyatharinfiftinminitnowyahere?” 

Finn pulls a warning scowl and swings at Poe’s arm again. Poe dodges and jogs out the staff door with a, “ Laters,” just as he passes through. Finn removes his gloves and tosses them into his helm, pulling a towel from inside the guardhouse window to wipe the sweat from his face. Staff members are already flocking towards him, wanting to sign out and get to their respective homes; whatever they may happen to be during the season. 

In ten minutes, everyone is accounted for and Lars dismisses Finn with a snappy, “ Tomorrow at 8am. Sharp.” 

Finn gives a mock salute and drags his exhausted self through the rough wooden door, helmet in hand. Now he can finally head toward The Castle and attempt to negotiate for an RV with a lost member of the Oakridge boys. 

It’s a short walk, but a laborious one in full armor. Finn clanks his way diagonally through the upper parking lot and into the hard packed earth lot beside The Castle Tavern where the Falcon is parked. He’s limping by the time he reaches the RV in its patch of long weeds. Poe is there with Chewie. He takes one look at Finn’s stuttering gait and grimaces in sympathy. “ Chafing?”

“ Like a sonuvabitch.” Finn grimaces in turn and makes his way up to the duo standing beside the great heap. “ So, Mr. Chewie, sir.” Politeness never goes awry.” What can you tell me about this, uhm, vehicle?” 

“ Shebinherebouttwoyears, butIdunruhplacedthainteryerninjunisgood, buteyemstillhavintrubbleiwthalectronics.” Chewie points and gestures to various parts of the RV as he verbally assesses their condition.

Finn doesn’t understand a single god damned word. He looks pleadingly at Poe while Chewie is popping the hood. Poe covers a snicker, then clears his throat. “ Okay, Chewie. So the gist is that the interior is refurbished like new, and the engine works. But there’s something up with the electrical so it’s not a reliable ride. That about right?”

Chewie nods. 

Finn gives it a bit of thought. He doesn’t have to drive it right at this moment. Just a solid roof above him and a solid floor beneath him is a hundred times better than his crappy tent. Of course, there’s one more piece of criteria to be met “ How much do you want each month?” 

Chewie eyes Finn up and down, then raises his hand, all five fingers splayed. “ Fihundrid.”

“ Five hundred?!” Finn nearly chokes. He understood that. 

Even Poe seems shocked. “ Seriously, man?”

Chewie crosses his hairy arms across his huge hairy chest. Apparently, he’s serious.

Finn starts walking, frustrated. Angry, really. He gets three steps away when he feels a hand on his arm. Poe turns him back around, leaning in close to talk quietly. “ Okay, okay, not what I expected, but I can loan you the money until you find something else.” 

Finn shakes his head. “ You’re a great guy, Poe, really. But I’m not borrowing that much money from you. Especially when I’m not even sure if I can pay you back. “

“ Don’t worry about-”

“ Not happening.” Finn thins the line of his mouth. Determined. He huffs out a breath, then takes it back in slowly. Okay, he’s going to adult here. Finn approaches Chewie. “ I can do three hundred.” 

Chewie tugs on the end of his mustache. “ Threefitty.” 

“ Deal.” Finn accepts even though he’s groaning inside at how much of his pay is going strictly to rent. 

Chewie extends his hand to Finn. “ Threefitty. MovinwhinIgitthamunny.”

“ Poe…” Finn never looks away from Chewie as they shake hands.

“ You can move in when he gets the money.” Poe offers under his breath. Finn can just make out an eye-roll in his periphery. 

“ I’ll have it at the end of the week.” Finn finishes the handshake with an extra firm squeeze and is relieved when the ginormous paw releases his hand. He’s definitely going to go out of his way to keep his new landlord happy. 

Poe slings his arm across Finn’s metal-clad shoulders and salutes Chewie with his free hand. “ Opening day is over, gentlemen! Go get changed, because ‘tis time for a bloody drink!” 

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

The rest of opening week at the Faire is bananas. Among the more memorable happenings in Finn’s life are:

The left knee joint of his armour locks up and he has to hobble to the armourer during his only break to get it hammered out (the guy gives him a can of WD-40 for emergencies).

Some kids try to sneak their friends in without paying and Finn has to hang onto two of them by their anime t-shirts until security can escort them out.

One day it’s so hot that Finn actually _faints_ for the first time in his life. He awakens to Poe looming over him, fanning him with a feather and singing about the most delicate knight at the Faire. On the upside, the faire’s medic mandates that he get a longer daily break. On the downside, he spends most of it getting out of, and then back into the armour.

The next day some total jackassaur comes around dressed in fancy black leather gear and a long hooded cloak and bangs Finn around with a sword, apparently just for kicks. By the sound of localized applause Finn can tell there’s an audience. His knee joint locks up again afterward. Finn learns from the armourer (when he’s getting some dents hammered out of his cuirass) that his new antagonist is Kylo Ren, a headline performer the Faire has brought in to boost attendance. Apparently he does film stunts, like that makes him in any way qualified to be battering people in public with a homemade sword.

“Seriously, fuck that guy,” Finn says to Poe that evening as he takes inventory of his bruises.

“With Phasma’s favorite jousting lance,” Poe agrees. “I brought you some ice for that bruise on your shoulder. It looks like it hurts.”

The next day nothing weird happens, but the Faire is so busy that Finn doesn’t get to sit down all day. For what it’s worth, the kids are really into his knight schtick and he ends up in lots of selfies.

For a few hours Rey fills in taking tickets at the front gate, so at least he has someone fun to talk to and commiserate with, about the heat and the constant mental challenge of talking in Elizabethan English, and the shitload of negatons that Kylo Ren spreads around with his very presence. Rey isn’t any fonder of him than Finn is.

“Like sword fighting is that hard. He probably won a fencing tournament in high school and now he’s trying to relive his glory days.”

Finn snorts. “That’s hardly something to brag about. I mean, I get that the guy’s really good at what he does, but that’s not an excuse to act like a complete ass.”

Rey nods enthusiastically. “I agree.” She squints up at the sky. “Do think think it’s going to rain again tonight? The wind was insane, I probably got two hours of sleep.”

“Tell me about it. The wind ripped my tent right off its guylines and the rain fly blew away.”

“That sucks. Maybe you can crash with someone.” Rey picks a flower out of her crown and starts picking petals off it. “The girls call the compound where I’ve been staying ‘the Red Tent’. And they’re great, but it can get to be a little intense. I’d love something of my own, even if it was tiny.” She looks up at him. “What are you gonna do?”

“Well, Poe introduced me to a guy who has a camper for rent, so if I can get the money together I’m gonna meet up with him later.”

“Cool, good luck! Invite me over if you get it!”

“I will! It’s even got a little kitchen, so I’ll cook you dinner.”

“Oh! Speaking of cooking, are you going to the big cookout at the General’s tomorrow night after closing?”

“Oh hell yeah. Free food and beer, sign me up!” Finn flips up his visor to give her a significant look. “I understand there’s going to be more in the way of consumables than just beer, if you’re so inclined.”

Rey grins. “Oh, if you’re talking about Gemma’s ‘special cookies’, she was kind enough to share some samples yesterday. A word of caution...don’t eat more than one until you know how it’s going to affect you.”

“Pretty good shit?”

“Let’s just say she uses a very high-quality special ingredient. Emphasis on the _high_.”

“Awesome.”

Lars the Gatekeeper returns from break at this point to glare at them both, so Rey gives Finn a little tap on the armour that serves as a courtly farewell. “Good luck with the camper guy tonight!”

“Have a housewarming gift ready!” Finn watches her bounce off to her next posting. When he turns back to the gate, Lars is still glaring.

“Lighten up, man. Even your sad ass can’t ruin my day.” Nothing is going to get him down right now, because by tonight, Finn plans to have comfy new living arrangements. He smiles and tips his visor back into place.

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

The Knights of Ren have been headlining renaissance faires and festivals for several years now, but Kylo has never had anything more but a very formal, professional relationship with the rest of his crew. For him that doesn’t involve socializing, although he knows that Savion was a groomsman at Christopher’s wedding, and that Gianni is godfather to Bram’s kid, and they all go out drinking when they’re together.

But it’s only because he is desperate to get out of that fucking trailer that he agrees to go with them tonight. He should have realized ahead of time that their destination was The Castle, and that he’d be spending the evening trying to avoid Maz cornering him and asking questions about his life and his choices.

He does this by starting up a game of pool and opening a tab at the bar, because it means they’ll all get drunk and gabby with each other and just let him brood and keep sinking his shots.

It gives him a good view of the parking lot, too. He can see Chewie out there wrenching on the Falcon - not surprising; Kylo would bet it still stalls while driving at the worst possible moment. He’s got some childhood memories that would attest to that.

He’s jarred out of memory when someone who is definitely not Chewie pops out from under the Falcon’s hood. It’s the mouthy girl from the dunking boothe, looking more like a grease-daubed daisy. He has no idea why, but she makes him want to take his pool cue and smash all the bottles behind the bar. Or maybe just grab her and spirit her away from this freakish sideshow, for her own good. 

So of course he opts out of the next game and takes himself out to the smoking patio so he can eavesdrop. It’s voyeuristic, but who cares? Generally it’s better to observe other people’s interactions so you know where their weaknesses lie. That’s never useless information.

Chewie, of course, is as incomprehensible as ever, but it only takes a minute or two before Kylo’s ear acclimatizes to the drawl and cadence he grew up hearing.

The girl’s voice, on the other hand, is clear as a bell and just as he remembers it from her yelling at him in that terrible, put-on English accent. He’d be lying if he said her _base, craven, dog-hearted_ spiel wasn’t playing on a vexing mental loop as he lay alone and sweating in his trailer, trying to sleep at night. 

“No, I know you’ve probably done that already. But I lived with some people who had a van just like this, little newer maybe,” she’s saying. “If you already replaced the idle speed control solenoid and motor, then -”

Her voice becomes indistinct as she disappears under the Falcon’s hood. Chewie is still looking skeptical, but he leans over to watch whatever the girl is doing. There is more discussion that Kylo can’t hear, and then the girl pops up again. “I say we rewire it. Bypass that terminal where the voltage keeps fluctuating.”

Kylo’s eyebrows go up at the surety of her tone. He watches as Chewie claps her on the shoulder and she grins at him. “Deal! First month’s rent free for fixing the ISC, and then cash after that!”

“Rey, what’s good?” One of the Faire performers walks across the parking lot. It’s one of Phasma’s joust rejects, some sad loser who gets paid minimum wage to stand around in what basically amounts to a personal oven all day. Kylo smiles slightly to himself as he remembers doing a little impromptu show at the Faire gates that left this guy with a few new dents in his armour.

“ Chewie, sir.” The guy reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a wallet. “I brought first month’s rent.”

“Hey, Finn,” The girl, Rey, replies. “I think I might have…” she looks sidelong over at Chewie. “I think I might have just rented it?” She looks back at Finn. “Unless you guys had some kind of agreement... I didn’t know.” Rey’s face is so expressive that Kylo can see her flicker from bright smile to frustrated frown even at this distance. 

Chewie gestures at the van and at Rey, offering an explanation that make Finn’s face contort with confusion, and finally his shoulders sag. “Oh, so you fixed it for him? I didn’t know that was part of the deal. If I have to crash with the mud-show guys for another night I’m gonna lose it.”

“I’m sorry,” Rey says. “I just thought…” 

Chewie goes into another long spiel that includes lots of hand gestures. 

“You mean share the van?” Rey sounds a little skeptical.

Finn is more into it. “I’m a good roommate, Rey, I promise,” he asserts. “Quiet, clean, and I’ll never steal your food.”

Kylo stands up and fishes out a cigarette. Renfaires are pretty much the source of all dysfunctional-people hookups. He’s possibly witnessing the birth of one right now. Charming.

“I sleep up top, you sleep on the pullout. No sexiling the other person without fair warning.” Rey says finally. “And you buy first month’s gas, since I took care of the rent. Then we split it.”

Finn grins hugely. “You got a deal.”

Kylo turns his back abruptly as they all begin walking towards the bar’s front entrance so that they won’t notice they’ve been watched. He hears them chattering to each other with Chewie adding an occasional comment as they go inside.

Almost against his own will, he walks across the parking lot to the Falcon. It looks much the same as he remembers from childhood camping trips across the country, although any new rust has been buffed out, primed and repainted. His hand hesitates on the door...but what the hell, it probably isn’t locked. Chewie was never a locker, and neither was Kylo’s dad, for what it’s worth.

He opens the door. Chewie has taken care with the interior, the formica surfaces, the little stainless steel sink, the cabinets. The carpeting and paint appear to be new, although the air is a little stale, in need of a good airing-out.

The curtained bunk up top where he used to sleep, lulled by the sounds of crickets and owls, or the ocean, or the rocking of the van as it barrelled towards Red Rocks or the Outer Banks or wherever his family was off to that summer, is dark and silent. Kylo imagines Rey there, sleeping with a hand curled under her cheek, the pillows taking on the scent of her hair.

He ducks his head as he abruptly pulls back out of the van and slams the door. The childhood memories are intrusion enough into his calm, the last thing he needs is to be obsessing on some girl who will disappear like a puff of smoke as soon as the season is over.

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

On Wednesday, Poe pulls into the campground, wheels kicking up dust until he reaches the worn out grass closer to the camping sites. He parks the truck beside the old Falcon and rolls both windows down, vowing to WD-40 the creaking handles later today. Even a few seconds in the cab without a breeze blowing through the windows is absolute torture and Poe doesn’t waste time sitting in the truck. He grabs his goodies and jumps down, elbowing the door shut with a little effort. It, too, needs some oily love. 

He’s just about to knock on the RV door when he hears the unmistakable sounds of combat coming from the other side of the vehicle. Two familiar voices accompany the dull thwacks of wood on wood.

“ You are so gonna get it!” Rey’s strong lilt. 

“ Come on, princess! Give it to me!” Finn’s light baritone.

Poe stops at the corner of the RV, bag hanging heavily from his shoulder, silently watching the two young people sparring in the short grass nearby.

Finn’s bare back is facing him and Poe takes a moment to thoroughly appreciate the movement of each muscle as it flexes under the dark skin. Every motion is fluid, balanced. Natural. Beautiful to watch. Even with the sky covered in gray clouds the humidity is still sickeningly high and sweat runs in streams down Finn’s torso to the low waist of his sweatpants. Little rivulets highlighting the defined physique. Finn twirls his wooden practice sword playfully before striking. He encourages and teases by turns.

Rey is facing Finn, therefore turned towards Poe, but obviously too focused to notice anything outside of her sparring partner. She swings a quarterstaff with strength and grace, each form flowing smoothly into the next. It’s obvious she’s had some training somewhere. Her strikes are well placed and occasionally catch Finn off guard. She smiles each time he’s forced to adjust and press harder. Laughs when he loses his footing, falls into her, and they both collapse to the ground in a tangled mess.

Poe grins at the sight and moves fully into view, bearing his gifts. “ Lemonade for the young warriors!” He raises two extra large water bottles, full to the brim of ice and tart, sugary goodness. 

“ You are a lifesaver, Poe.” Rey rolls away from Finn and crawls toward Poe, obviously unwilling to expend any more energy for actual walking. She holds out her hand for the drink and Poe laughs as he hands it over. Finn is still lying flat on his back in the dry grass, chest heaving, one arm thrown over his face. 

“ I think you broke him.” Poe smirks. “ Heads up.” He tosses the water bottle.

Finn snatches it from the air and balances it horizontally on the bridge of his nose, condensation dripping onto his cheeks. “ I so owe you, dude. Anything, you name it.” 

Poe needs to sit down before he says something that gets himself in trouble. He subtly adjusts himself as he walks to the lawn chair against the trailer, keeping Rey to his back. No need for her to see what a perverted old man he is. Poe carefully settles into the weather worn plastic. “ So… I didn’t know you could kick so much ass, Rey. I had my suspicions, of course.” He sips from his own water bottle of actual water. “ Slow down, or you’ll make yourself sick.” 

Rey is still gulping down the iced beverage. She breaks away from the bottle lip, gasping. “ I… I can... just keep them off me until someone else comes to help.” She guzzles down more lemonade. 

“ She’s lying.” Finn sits up, still holding the bottle against his face. “ I guarantee you she could lay us both out if she really wanted to.” He moves the bottle to the back of his neck and gets to his feet. Bits of dead grass are sticking in his hair, to his sweaty skin. “ You shower first, Rey. I’ll go rinse off in the creek.” 

“ Seriously? You know what’s in that water?” Poe stares at Finn, incredulous. 

“ Finn, I can wait-” Rey begins to resist.

“ I’ll take a real shower with soap before we head to the picnic. Promise.” He grins, brushing some grass from his shoulder. He grabs his t-shirt. 

“ I’ll make it quick.” Rey drags herself up, leaning heavily on her staff. She stretches fully, then hunches over, muscles obviously aching from her workout.

Poe takes her staff. “ Get to it, young lady. No one likes a smelly person. Unless you’re part of the mud-show. ” He watches, amused, as she makes her way around the trailer, the door clattering shut behind her. Poe turns his attention back to Finn. “ Seriously, just go take a shower at Leia’s. She won’t mind.” 

Finn shakes his head. Little bits of leaves fall out. “ I don’t have any open wounds and I’m not going to drink it. I just want to wipe off the grass and sweat. Okay?” He swings his t-shirt out and smacks Poe’s backside. “ It’ll be fine. Hey, where’s BB8?”

“ I left him at the General’s. He’s the official taste tester.” They walk around the RV and Poe hears the low vibration of the shower running inside. He leans the staff by the front door and follows Finn to the stream a little ways off, mindful of the way the other man’s rear end fills out his pants. 

Poe bites his lip. He is completely infatuated with Finn and he needs to get over it. He understands that all these initial urges are physical. Finn is fucking hot, it’s only natural for Poe to be attracted to him. And normally Poe would swoop in with his sense of humor and bedroom eyes and get a few weeks of fun in before the season ends and Finn travels on to bigger and brighter things. But he gets the strong sense that Finn doesn’t operate that way and any invitations for short term hanky panky will most likely be met with mild offense and massive embarrassment and Poe can respect that. And it’s not as though Poe has never been interested in a guy who wasn’t into a summer fling (including the straight guys who were flattered, but not interested). He’s had experience with these futile crushes before; keep his feelings to himself, try to be friends, let it burn out. He doesn’t make anyone uncomfortable and he doesn’t get hurt. 

But Poe doesn’t want to do that this time. Something about Finn makes Poe feel like maybe this time it’s worth the risk to try for something more.

Just not right this moment, with the object of his attentions currently cohabiting with his other new young friend. It’s entirely possible Poe misread a few signals. He will have to tread carefully. Poe clears his throat and rampaging thoughts. “ I really didn’t know Rey could use a quarterstaff. Where’d she learn that?” Anything to take his mind off Finn squatting at the creek bank, perfect line of his ass stretching the fabric of his running pants. 

“ Some old guy working with that band she was following around.” Finn dunks his shirt in the swiftly moving water. “ Said his name was Walker or something like that. A roadie, I think. ” 

Poe watches Finn drape the wet shirt over his head. Water cascades from the soaked material, washing away a few of the less stubborn pieces of natural debris. Broad hands come up and begin using the fabric to scrub away everything else. Finn stands and turns and Poe casually looks away. “ Must’ve been a real master for her to be as good as she is in such a short amount of time.” 

“ I don’t know. I think she’s just naturally talented.” Finn’s face is still covered by the shirt. “ She’s intuitive, improvises well. With some more training- from someone who actually knows how to use a staff properly, because it’s not really my thing- I think she could really kick some ass.” He pulls the shirt down, dragging it over his face and wiping at his chest.” Like Kylo’s.” 

Poe is _not_ > looking at the man’s nipples. “ I would pay double to see that.” And now Finn is pushing the shirt just under the waistband of his pants, wiping up the stray trails of water. _Okay, I’m outta here._ “Well, I’m gonna help the General get everything set up, so I will see you both very soon.”But he can’t pass up another chance to rile the guy up. Finn is so funny when he pouts. “ Don’t forget a real shower.” 

“ I swear I will shower!” Finn huffs, stamping his foot like a toddler.

Poe grins and hightails it across the field, intent on occupying his lusty thoughts with manual labor and lots of ice water.

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

To get to the General’s house Rey and Finn use a charming little chain ferry to cross the pond that separates her personal property from the faire campground. Her modest farmhouse is a mossy green that blends in with the tall maple and black walnut trees surrounding it. The front porch is strung with globe lights, and checkered cloths cover a line of tables laden with a selection of foods from chips to pasta salads to meatless casseroles to hot dogs. The edible parade culminates in plates of pies and other baked goods.

A few of the mud show guys, true to their rep as the faire’s party animals, have set up a bar next to the keg and are serving shots and a drink Rey soon learns they invented just for tonight called a Flaming Trebuchet. “Long hang time, explosive fucking landing!” enthuses the bartender, who ignites hers with his lighter.

She holds it carefully away from herself. “What’s in it?”

“Raspberry vodka, Midori, Sprite, a sugar cube soaked in Malort, and 151.” He nods at her. “Don’t slam it, unless you want to unintentionally join the fire-eaters’ show!”

Rey lets the flame flicker out before taking a healthy sip and proclaiming it good. “One for my friend, too,” she croaks, gesturing at Finn.

As soon as he’s holding his drink, she raises hers. “To the Falcon!”

“The Falcon!” he crows back at her before blowing out the flames and toasting their new van.

After that, several of the other performers from the campground wander over to drink toasts as well, since everyone seems to know of her and Finn’s new cohabitation status. There seems to be a growing trend of using Twizzlers to drink the Flaming Trebuchets while they’re still flaming, and because Rey likes her eyebrows she demurs and wanders over to the food.

Leia is holding court behind the buffet table wearing an apron that declares “World’s Okayest Cook” and holding a glass of red wine the size of a small fishbowl. “Rey!” she exclaims with a big smile. “This is the first time in a week I’ve seen you not wearing a bodice and five petticoats! You look lovely!”

Rey smooths the front of her chambray sundress. She can’t remember the last time a woman was motherly towards her, treated her like a girl who might want to feel pretty, and she has to blink a few times. “Thanks, General.”

“It’s only the truth.” Leia smiles, and pats her arm. “Now, I saw you have a couple of those nasty drinks Oscar invented. Let’s get you a plate of food so you don’t fall on your face.”

Rey lets herself be shepherded along, her plate piled with watermelon and deviled eggs and grilled corn and cucumber salad and chicken wings. It feels decadent to eat something other than the greasy pseudo-middle-ages vendor food the performers are allowed to have one free daily meal of as part of their pay.

“What the -” she jumps as she feels something warm and wet nuzzling her sandalled toes. Looking down at her feet, she sees Poe’s corgi’s yearning brown gaze.

“Okay, just don’t lick my feet anymore, BB8,” she admonishes as she slips him a deviled egg. “There, just promise me you won’t tell Poe I’m the reason you have the farts later.”

“You wicked girl, giving my poor innocent dog the farts!” Poe suddenly slides onto the picnic bench next to her, carrying two big red cups. “Have you tried the punch?”

It turns out to be much more delicious and far less lethal than the flaming cocktails. As Rey drinks, the torches around the patio seem to burn more brightly. The lingering summer sun finally sets, and fireflies flit and sparkle in the dusk.

“So, you’ve got a new roomie,” Poe says. “Looks like you might be holding his hair back later tonight.”

Rey looks up to see Finn doing shots with Oscar and the guys whose job it is to sit in the stocks letting faire patrons pay to throw overripe tomatoes at them. She’s pretty sure there’s no way he can hang with that crowd. “Oh my god. Somebody stop him.”

Poe is a true gentleman, because he gets up and goes over to Finn. When Finn turns around holding two shot glasses, Poe takes one and even though Rey can’t hear him, she can tell he made a joke, because Finn starts laughing and Poe takes the opportunity to grab the other shot glass. He leaves both glasses on the bar because it’s not like Finn is even going to miss them, and starts steering Finn animatedly to the food tables. 

Rey is laughing out loud by the time Poe returns to sit next to her. “That was amazing!”

“Just a little sleight of hand,” Poe grins. They both watch Finn as he piles cherry pie on top of his potato chips.

Rey turns to say something to Poe but he’s kind of staring at her. “What?”

His smile is more tentative this time. “So. You and Finn, huh?”

“Yeah. I think he’ll be a good roommate.” It takes Rey several seconds to realize what Poe’s asking, and she has a hard time swallowing a mouthful of cucumbers. “I mean, _no_ , not ‘me and Finn, huh’. We’re sharing the Falcon, and we’re friends.” She gives a little cough. “And that was kind of nosey.”

Poe shrugs. “A lot of people are wondering.”

“Oh, right, a lot of people. Well they’re nosey too.” Rey notices Gemma wandering through the party with a basket of her special cookies. She gets up to grab a couple before they run out.

Poe un-hitches BB8 from the corgi’s little wheelie cart and gently massages his hindquarters. “You feeling a little sore, boy? Do we need to adjust something again? You’re probably getting a little pudgy for your rig, with all the snacks you’re getting.”

Rey reaches out to pet the dog and he basks in the dual attention. “I saw him full-on running earlier today. Away from that Knights of Ren asshole.” Rey bristles in spite of the fact that she’s resolved not to waste any more time thinking about the guy. “He was yelling about how poor B. chewed his sword-polishing cloth or something.”

“Yeah, with Kylo’s sunny personality, I bet he ends up doing a lot of _sword-polishing_.”

Rey rolls her eyes. “Nice euphemism.” She remembers a recent conversation among the Red Tent girls. “I will never understand why the dark and dangerous vibe is so appealing to some people.”

“What, you don’t find it attractive?” Poe grins sidelong at her.

“Um, _no_ , I do not.” Just the thought of him coolly knocking her into the dunking tank on her first day irks her yet again, as it does every time she remembers it. “Everyone treats that guy like he walks on water, and he does literally nothing to deserve it.” Her eyes wander over to the Vegetable Vengeance guys, who are now playing a rousing game of Dizzy Bat. “He should spend a few days getting tomatoes thrown at him. Would be good for his giant ego.”

“Oooh, faire gossip.” Leia slides into the bench across the table and pours herself another glass of wine. “Who are we talking about this time?”

“Ow!” Rey gives Poe a dirty look for kicking her ankle. He’s mouthing something at her but she totally can’t read lips, so whatever. “Ugh. Kylo Ren. I’ve met a lot of arrogant douchelords in my day, but he’s their king.” She warms to her topic and manages to avoid another kick from Poe. “Cut it out! Anyhow. Yeah, I’m just glad he’s not here because if anyone has the ability to suck the enjoyment out of anything with his mere presence, he does. Oh, my god, _what_?” she practically yells at Poe’s third kick. 

She sees Leia reach across the table and put a hand on Poe’s arm. “It’s okay,” she says, in a way that takes in both of them. “It isn’t the first time someone has expressed those opinions about my kid. Hell. It isn’t even the first time _today_.” 

Rey suddenly has a hard time taking a full breath. “Your...Kylo is your _son_?”

Leia nods and takes a huge swallow of wine. “He is. And I’d say something like, hey, you must’ve caught him on a bad day, but…” her dry laugh falls a little shy of humorous. “I can’t make excuses for him. Believe it or not, he was sweet when he was little.” She sighs. “And I won’t make excuses for myself, either. I worked all the time, and his dad wasn’t around much.”

“Seriously, I’m sorry. I didn’t know, and...I’m just sorry. I really put my foot in my mouth.” Rey feels a blush layer itself on top of her sunburn as she thinks of how this is the last woman she’d wish to hurt. “He’s not that bad.”

Leia laughs again. “Oh, honey. Yes he is. He’s a mess, and don’t worry, he won’t be showing up here. Once his manager convinced him Hollywood was where he needed to be, he left and didn’t look back.” Leia takes a deep breath. “And that’s enough of that topic for now.” She levels a gimlet eye at Rey and Poe. “I saw you guys grab some of Gemma’s cookies.”

Great, now she’s going to get busted for drugs. Rey is still wondering if she can fall back on the whole I-missed-orientation excuse again when Leia holds out a hand. “Don’t bogart the baked goods. Let’s get low.”

Some time after the cookies kick in, Rey finds herself lying on her back on the chain ferry staring at the sky. “You can see a million stars out here. It’s so beautiful.”

Lying nearby, Poe nods. “I’ll take you night flying sometime. It’ll blow you away.”

“You fly? Like planes?”

He sits up, warming to the topic. “Yeah, small planes. My mom was an Air Force pilot. I learned on her old Thrush S2R. It’s still my favorite. ” He leans forward, squinting at a knot of noisy people still partying in front of the house. “Hey. You think Finn might like to go night flying?”

His wistful tone catches at something inside her, and she rolls over to look at him. “Um. You don’t mean like, now, right?” She can see the outline of Finn dancing clumsily - actually it looks more like vague weaving back and forth - in front of the campfire. “I think he’s too drunk.”

“He’s definitely too drunk.” Poe gets to his feet and holds out a hand for her. “Come on, I’ll help you get him back to your new home sweet home.”

**XOXOXOX**

Dear God, he hasn’t been this drunk in… “ Never!” Finn yells out, swinging his arms wide with the sense of freedom the word inspires in him. “ Nevuh, evuh, evuh!” He ratchets up his southern accent, remembering how the girls on the road always thought it was cute. 

Someone biggish takes him by the arm, putting their arm around his waist. “ Okay, buddy. I’m not gonna take that personally.” Poe’s voice. Really really close. “ I’ve got him, Rey. Watch his feet. He’s kinda all over the place.” 

Finn likes Poe. Poe’s a swell guy. Finn giggles at his inner voice, _swell_ , head ducking closer to the older man’s neck. “ You smell soooo amaze...ing.” He pushes his nose against warm skin. Finn has always loved cinnamon and clove. Spicy scents. “ Smells like Christmas!” 

“ Dear Lord our God, who art in heaven… You’re not making this easy on me, buddy.” Poe’s voice in his ear, shoulder under his shoulder, arm across his back. Poe holding him. “ This whole drunk thing is not your schtick.” 

“ I can drive a schtick!” Finn likes this. A lot. Because Poe is nice. “ But, I’m drunk righ’ now.” 

“ You most certainly are.” Rey’s voice. Finn likes Rey a lot, too. Her dress is so bright, even in the dark and Finn really wants to touch it but she’s just a bit out of reach. “ I hope you aren’t a puker.” 

They’re walking, Finn realizes. Away from the fire and the mud-guys and the drinky drinks. “ Is tha party over? I don’t thin’ it’s over yet, ReyRey.” He tries to turn around but the world tries to turn with him and he gets his feet tangled up in it. Stupid world. 

Poe holds him tighter. “ Party’s over for you, I’m afraid.” Finn rubs his nose just below Poe’s ear and Poe stops and holds Finn even tighter. Finn is okay with this. “ Rey, I think you might have to help me.” Finn manages to lift his big, heavy hand and rest it on top of Poe’s head. The dark hair is sweaty and soft. Finn pulls it a bit. Poe makes a weird noise in his throat that kinda reminds Finn of a porno. “ Finn, you’ve got to _stop_ doing that.” 

Finn frowns, but lets his hand slide down the front of Poe’s head. Down Poe’s face. Down Poe’s neck. Down Poe’s chest. Finn decides Poe has a nice shape and bends his arm to hug/headlock the man. He fists a handful of t-shirt on Poe’s chest. 

“ Is he too heavy?” Rey is in front of them again. Finn squints at her, trying to get her to stay still and stop wobbling in every direction. Oh, wait. He’s the one wobbling. His bad.

“ No, just.. nevermind. I’m an adult. I can do this.” Poe takes in a deep breath and lunges forward, dragging Finn with him. Finn is also okay with this. 

They keep walking and walking and walking and Finn doesn’t want to walk anymore and then, finally, Poe lets him sit down. Except it’s not the ground because everything’s floating and he’s not _that_ drunk and Finn vaguely remembers pulling the chain on the ferry when they crossed over the pond before. So he tries to roll to his feet. “ I got it.” He grabs the rail and slips. There’s yelling and his arms are wet now.

“ Jesus, just sit down!” Rey’s voice again. All the hands hauling Finn up, Rey wrapping his arms around her own body, holding him in place against her. She smells like laundry detergent and strawberry shampoo. Finn likes this, too. “ You okay, Poe?” 

“ He is seriously harshing my mellow. I thought I was gonna have a heart attack.”

“ Don’t you fall in. Or we’ll all be stuck out here.” 

They’re moving again. Creak and drag of the chain. Poe’s labored breathing. Rey’s hand patting his back. Finn can hear the music from the party. He starts singing, then forgets the words and just hums along as he floats through the darkness. With Poe and Rey. 

They could’ve left him there. Passed out on the General’s front lawn. Or stumbling in the night. Or drowning in the pond. They could’ve decided he was too much trouble days ago when they first met and politely brushed him off and ignored him and left him to die of heatstroke alone in his armour. 

But they didn’t. 

“ You’re awful quiet now. Doin’ okay?” Rey’s voice against his chest. Her hand squeezing his shoulder.

Finn takes a moment to think about it, looking up at the sky with its millions of stars and a bright white half moon. “ Yeah, I am.” And he means it. Really truly means it. Maybe for the first time in his life. 

The ferry hits the shore and Finn feels his body sway with Rey’s. Poe’s hands are under his arms. “ Alright, upsy-daisy!” There’s a struggle, but Finn finally makes his feet do what he tells them. This time he has Poe on one side and Rey on the other. The height difference is fun.

Walking again. Ugh. Finn squeezes his friends, his _friends!_ , close to him. They all stumble. And laugh. Finn starts singing again.

“ Oh my gods, is he singing Stevie Nicks?” Rey giggles just under Finn’s chin.

“ Fleetwood Mac. But same difference, I guess.” Poe is breathing heavily right by Finn’s cheek. 

Finn lets them go and throws his arms wide again, spinning around, staring up at the moon. He likes spinning. He forgets a few words of the song, but makes some up. They totally fit. 

Poe is laughing. Rey is laughing. They each have one of his hands, pulling him along. They’re singing with Finn now, except he’s pretty sure they remember the right lyrics. 

The Falcon reflects the moon and stars and practically glows in the dark. Like Rey’s dress. Finn is about to tell her this, but she’s already running ahead to get the door. So Finn tells Poe, instead. “ Dude, Rey glows in the dark.” 

“ That seems about right.” Poe chuckles.” What about me?” 

Finn stares hard at his friend’s- _friend’s!_ \- tan face. Poe’s luminous dark eyes, super white teeth. Sweat on his forehead. “ You’re shiny.” Finn likes this. “ Shiny Poe.” 

Poe snorts. “ Sounds like a J-Pop band. Okay, buddy, here we are.” 

“ Watch the step.” Rey is above Finn, pulling him up into the RV. 

The inside of the RV smells like cold coffee and Funyuns. It’s dark inside, too. Finn can’t see Rey until she moves in front of a window, the blinds open to let in the moonlight. She’s still glowing. Finn follows her to his bed, the pull-out already pulled out because Rey is the best. Poe’s hands are still on his back, steadying him. Poe’s the best, too. 

Finn falls onto his bed the second his shins hit the side. Beds are the best. 

“ Nope. Roll over.” Poe tugs on him until he rolls over onto his stomach. Finn is more of a back sleeper, but he’ll let Poe have his way this time. “ Rey, can you get a trash can? Just in case.” 

Finn pushes his arm off the edge, hand resting on the cooler floor. He closes his eyes. Rey and Poe are moving around him. Taking care of him. _Friends_. He can feel Poe pulling his sneakers off at the end of the bed. Finn wants to help, but he just doesn’t have any strength left. There’s a metal _clink_ near his face. Rey with the trash can. Finn forces his eyes open and reaches out, he snags the strap of her dress. “ Rey, hey.” Still glowing. “ You know, right? That I love you.” 

Poe stops, but Finn still has one shoe half on. 

Finn pulls on her strap, liking the way it makes a shadow across her shoulder. “ You're my best… best friend and I'd do, like, anything for you, promise. Anything at all. I'll go kick Kylo’s ass righ’ now, just for you.”

“ I knew you’d be a sentimental drunk.” Rey sighs, petting Finn’s head. She tugs on his earlobe and lightly slaps his cheek. “ I love you, too. Here's your puke bucket.”

Poe finishes pulling Finn’s sneaker off. Finn hopes his feet don't smell bad. He blinks slowly in the dark, listening to Rey and Poe whispering together. Then there’s a weight on his bed, rustling fabric. Poe must be helping Rey into her bunk. Finn opens his eyes and sees a denim clad leg by his face. He gets his fingers working again and pinches the jeans. 

“ Sweet dreams, Rey.” Poe is talking quietly, then bending down in front of Finn. Dark eyes and slightly broken nose and strong jaw. “ You okay, buddy? Feeling sick?” He puts his hand on Finn’s shoulder. 

Finn stares into Poe’s eyes and there’s something important he wants to tell him, but he can’t think of anything other than, “ You're my best friend, too.” He’s straining to get his hand up, to make the limp noodle muscles work properly. He manages a clumsy petting motion against Poe’s stubble-rough cheek. Then slides his hand around to the back of Poe’s neck and pulls their foreheads together for no reason other than it feels good. Actually, it kinda feels _right_. 

“ I know.” Poe sounds tired. He eases away and places Finn’s hand back onto the mattress. “ Sleep tight, buddy. Don't let the genetically modified bed bugs bite.” Poe is smiling again when he stands up, swiping his palm across his face. 

“ Oh, hey!” The sudden thought bursts into Finn’s head and promptly out of his mouth. “ Wha- where’re you sleeping?” 

“ In the truck.” Poe is already cautiously making his way toward the door. 

“ Dude, no!” Finn is half out of the bed with protest, reaching wildly for the man’s leg. “ Sleep in here! I’ll move over!”

“ No, the truck’s fine. I’ll see you in the mor-” 

“ Poe!” Finn lurches up, the world spins in a dizzy whirl pool of oilslick colors and he falls back flat on his face. He can’t let Poe, one of his best friends - _friends!_ \- sleep in a truck all night in the cold… in the hot. “ Stay here. Your truck s-sucks.” Finn remembers proper begging. “ Please, please, please.” 

“ … Seriously, you are not making this easy on me.” Poe is muttering at the door. 

Rey pipes in from the top bunk. “ I don’t think he’s going to shut up unless you give in.” 

“ You are definitely not helping, young lady.” Poe huffs in Rey’s direction.

Finn is irrationally afraid that Poe will leave. He awkwardly gets a hold of the comforter that he hasn’t slept under in two months and shoves it behind him, creating a barrier of sorts, dividing the bed roughly in half. “ See. Leaving room for the Holy Spirit.” His grandmother used to say that all the time and Finn giggles so hard he begins hiccuping. He doesn’t know why his brain thought it was relevant to his current situation. He is all the drunk. 

“ I never thought of myself as a masochist, not really. Maybe some light spanking... ” Poe sighs in defeat. He only stands another moment at the door and Finn hears the click of the lock. Then Poe is turning and making his way back through the darkened space. He toes his shoes off, slips his belt through the loops and drops it nearby, and carefully crawls over Finn’s prone body. 

Finn feels the dip in the mattress and the drag of Poe’s legs over his own. He likes it. It’s comforting. There’s more movement as the older man settles himself on the far side of the bed, against the wall. Poe’s ankle barely touches his foot. Finn rubs his face against the blanket and lets himself drift off. 

Finn dreams of Poe’s hand curled around his own as Poe softly whispers, _“What the hell am I doing?”_

_tbc_


	3. Life at the Faire Continues Apace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Circumstances being what they are, we're posting Chapter 3 slightly ahead of plan. Not that we really have a plan. But still, happy Saturday, enjoy!
> 
> Notes up top this time, because herein the story earns its explicit rating, aka, Chapter 3 has some kinky sex of the rough-ish play variety. Also, noted the added pairing in the tags. If those things aren't your jam, plug your ears and go 'la la la la' while you read that part! Or, just kind of skip over it.
> 
> For the record, Hato is my warrior princess <3

Today, Rey is a saucy pirate wench helping out on the Black Pearl in the middle of the faire, a stream running diagonally through the ground floor of the wooden structure. The small, wrecked pirate ship is essentially a playground for the smaller children and a battle zone for the older ones. Rey’s job is to sell bottled waters and juice boxes from the wheeled cart parked at the entrance. She’s also the bouncer.

And today is a horrible day for it.

Rey doesn’t know if it’s something in the water or what, but the kids are just fucking awful. The morning had started well, lots of families with smiling toddlers and joyful tweens. After an hour and a half a switch had flipped somewhere in the cosmos and Rey could hear nothing but whiny screams from the hold. Parents were yelling and dragging flailing bodies from the main mast. When the parents were there at all. Often, Rey was discovering children as young as two had been sent to play on their own.

By one o’ clock the smaller children seem to be gone. In their place come the older kids with their toy weapons and sugar highs. Fights break out every quarter hour, like a show schedule. Rey has to lock up the cart and search out the combatants, either handing them over to irate adults or simply sending them on their way. She’s been kicked and hit, spit on and spilled on, cursed and threatened.

And it’s not even dinner time.

The usual tax collector is picking up her earnings, leaving her extra ones for change. Today Rey learns that he’s called Uncle Plutt. She has no clue who’s uncle he actually is, if anyone’s. Uncle Plutt is accompanied by an armed knight Rey recognizes from the jousts. Slips. Finn had pointed him out one day, a stylized handprint on the shoulder of his armour his main identifier. Rey gives a small wave. Slips waves back.

Uncle Plutt tucks the heavy bag under his arm and motions his guard onward. The moment they move away from the cart, a black shadow fills the space under her large umbrella. Rey should be accustomed to all the crazy get-ups she sees here, but it’s like this guy just materialized from thin air. She’s seen him before, sometimes talking to Chewie, sometimes just wandering around the arena. He’s taller than Finn, but definitely shorter than Kylo, covered head to toe in a shredded black hooded robe, gloves, and boots. Under the hood is a cowl with a very realistic representation of a human skull grinning back at her. Despite the heat, Rey feels a chill run up her spine. Definitely creepy. She hears a chorus of, “ Cool costume!” from the children playing on the ship.

“ Bottled water, please ma’am.” The drawling voice that emanates from the rubber mask diffuses Rey’s initial impression. The guy sounds like a cowboy; a real one, not the fake TV kind. Hm, definitely _not_ creepy. A gloved hand holds out a fiver.

Rey snaps out of her reverie and accepts the money, reaching into the bottom of the ice packed cart for an extra cold bottle. Mr. Skull- she’s dubbed him already- gives her a thumbs up. Rey hands him the bottle and three ones.” Your change, Sir Death.” She figures she should be a bit more formal when actually addressing him.

Mr. Skull waves the bills away. “ You’re basically working for tips. You keep it, princess.”

Rey smiles, grateful for the generosity. “ Thank you, I mean- many thanks, good sir.” She throws a curtsy in for good measure.

“ You don’t have to do that stuff for me, but I appreciate the thought.” Mr. Skull twists the cap off his drink and pushes it underneath his cowl and mask.

Rey watches this procedure and wonders if Mr. Skull is perhaps wanted by the FBI. Anonymity must be pretty darn important if he won’t even unmask to take a drink in this heat. She can just make out a tanned neck and a scarred chin with a bit of silver stubble. Rey’s about to ask him if he works here or if he’s just really into the whole cosplay thing when another customer arrives.

“ May I have one apple juice, please?” A little girl dressed as Queen Elsa shyly approaches Rey, a handful of change in her fist, her eyes locked onto the living death-shroud standing nearby. She keeps Rey between herself and Mr. Skull, but she is obviously determined to get this juice box.

Rey inwardly cheers her bravery. “ My pleasure, Your Grace.” She digs an apple juice from the cart and kneels down to count through the change. There’s a lot of pennies. The little girl giggles and Rey glances up to see her winking over Rey’s shoulder. At Mr. Skull. Rey turns her head to see Mr. Skull lowering his cowl too quickly for her to catch sight of anything. So, he likes kids, huh?

“ Hey, loser!”

Rey doesn’t look up as she counts the little girl’s money. “ Ignore him, Milady. He’s a horrible knave.” She makes a shooing motion toward the boy standing a few feet away. This particular young hooligan, around 11 years old, has been bounced from the premises several times already for hitting other kids with his brand new sword. Which is peace-tied as per regulation, but this little shit simply swings it still sheathed and has twice drawn blood. Rey has yet to see an accompanying adult. “ Many thanks, Your Highness.” She smiles brightly at the little girl. The kids love this whole fancy talking thing. Mini-Elsa curtsies in reply and runs back to a couple dressed as Shrek and Fiona. They all give her a wave before moving toward the amphitheater, where the main stage show is starting soon.

“ Give me a juice, lowly whore!” Young Hooligan is pointing his sheathed sword at her.

“ Watch your mouth, kid!” Mr Skull is bristling under his layers. Hands fisted on his hips, looming over the brat. “ Or you’re gonna find yourself-”

“ It’s okay,” Rey mumbles under her breath. She doesn’t want any trouble drawing unwanted attention. Like Hux or Kylo. Besides, she can take care of herself, thank you very much. And, there’s some sort of poetic justice in this horrid kid brandishing a sword he can’t even draw. Like a metaphor for his future impotence and ineptitude in life. Rey stands up and puts on her best Kylo-scowl. “ I prefer doxy.” She holds her hand out. “ Two dollars.” Young Hooligan slaps two crumpled bills into her hand. “ Apple, grape, or fruit punch?”

Instead of answering, Young Hooligan is distracted by a newcomer. Rey looks up from the ice to see BB8 happily wheeling his way toward the Pirate Ship, one of his favorite destinations since it contains his favorite kind of people; namely, children. They’re already hanging off the wooden platforms, scrambling down to pet the doggie. 

But Young Hooligan is there first. He launches from the cart, weapon in the air, ready to slash down on the corgi. Rey doesn’t even think. She throws the juice box in her hand with all her strength and accuracy. It hits the sheathed sword dead on, with enough force to wrench it from the kid’s hand. A water bottle hits Young Hooligan just above his ankle, tripping him up as he dives for the sword.

Rey is running the moment the juice box leaves her hand. She scoops the weapon up, just before the brat reaches it. “ Your adult can claim this at the guardhouse before you leave.” Rey stares him down, pointedly sliding the sheathed sword through her waist sash. Then she gets right in his face; close enough to smell the smoked turkey on his breath and see the fear in his eyes. Rey would bet her favorite pair of Converse no one’s ever stood up to this little hellion. “ Do _not_ let me see you here again. _Ever_.” She holds him with her deadly serious gaze for another moment before he backs away and bolts across the crowded field.

BB8 is barking furiously. The children on the ship are in an uproar of awe.

Rey squats down to scratch behind the corgi’s ears. “ You’ve got to stay out of trouble, silly puppy.” BB8 lolls his tongue and whimpers in appreciation. Rey smiles and stands up, ready to give a bow to the kids shouting praise from the ship. Before she can offer her thanks, Rey realizes that Kylo Ren is just across the way, near the Dungeon of Doom. He is leaning against a mock-up of an iron maiden outside the torture museum, seeming very at home amidst the garish backdrop of blood red paint and black metal devices. Staring at her as though they’re the only two beings in a void.

His expression is cold, unreadable, but she knows he’s not sending her any happy thoughts. Rey wonders just how much he saw and if he’s going to tattle on her to Hux for assaulting a faire guest. Despite her uneasiness, she doesn’t cease her own rebellious glowering, completely unwilling to back down in front of him. Kylo’s gaze turns slightly over her shoulder and Rey can feel a large presence at her side. Mr. Skull. She resists the urge to grab his hand for support.

Hux exits the side alley by the museum that leads to his trailer in the back. He walks past Kylo, saying something that Rey can’t hear at this distance, not even glancing in their direction. Kylo gives Rey and Mr. Skull a final piercing glare and silently follows behind Hux. It’s still hard for Rey to believe that that prick is Leia’s flesh and blood.

Mr. Skull gently ruffles her hair. “ You done good, kid.”

Rey thinks the compliment is for saving BB8, not staring down Sir Prick. But it almost sounds like he might have meant it for both. “ Thanks, but I’m used to dealing with it. ” They walk back to her cart and she pulls open the lockbox compartment. She’ll keep the sword here for now. Maybe Finn or Poe will pass by and she can ask one of them to take it to the guard house.

“ Here, I’ll run it to Lars. He’s actually pretty good about keeping up with confiscated items.” Mr. Skull reaches for the weapon and Rey readily hands it over. Mr. Skull tucks it somewhere in his voluminous robes. “ No need for you to leave the shade.”

“ Thanks again.” Rey wipes her sweaty hands on her skirts. “ Here.” She pulls another water bottle from the ice and offers it to her new friend.” If you hadn’t nailed him in the leg and thrown him off balance I wouldn’t have gotten there in time. Thanks from me, BB8 and his owner.”

Mr. Skull hesitates, but accepts the gift. “ It just slipped out of my hand, that’s all. But you’re very welcome, princess.”

She’s about to tell him her name so he can stop calling her all these old-timey pet names, and ask his name since he just saved her and all, but she is suddenly swarmed by a dozen kids spilling out of the pirate ship.

“ Hey, lady! Hey, lady! You were so cool!” A little blond boy is jumping up and down, trying to get her attention.

“ That was so awesome!” A dark haired girl with pigtails is tugging at Rey’s skirts. “ I’m gonna do my hair like yours tomorrow!”

“ Totally badass!” An older kid with glasses seems to be applauding both Rey and Mr. Skull. “ Hey, can I have a water?” That is definitely directed at her.

Rey tries to quiet the group down, unable to get a word in edgewise. She looks to Mr. Skull for some assistance, but the man is already moving away, gloved hands in the air like, _You’re on your own!_. Rey can hear his laughter as she struggles to take money, hand out drinks, and answer invasive personal questions about her life that only children are capable of getting away with.

**XOXOXOX**

 

Christie Phasmarran is not happy.

She is currently splayed on Hux’s black satin sheets in Hux’s grotesquely over-compensating bedroom, staring out Hux’s trailer window and thinking about how Hux has been holding her back all these years.

With Hux giving a rather lacklustre oral performance between her thighs.

She gently slides her fingers through his hair and jerks his head up with an audible snap of his neck. “Just fuck me already.”

“ Yeeees, Phasma.” Hux moans in reply, his head slumping forward against her inner thigh when she releases him. “ My queen, my beautiful queen.” He ducks his head and drags his tongue up her cleft once more before clambering onto his knees. Hux stretches until he can reach Phasma’s mouth and she can taste herself in his sloppy kiss.

Phasma does nothing to hide the irritated look on her face, visible even in the dimly lit trailer. Hux gets off on her disapproval and she’s never been one for pretense. It’s a beneficial arrangement. The kiss finally ends and Hux leans back to fumble himself into a condom. As she waits, Phasma returns to her previous line of thought.

Hux is holding her back.

He’d hand picked her, seven years ago, from a third-rate theater troupe traveling through the neighboring county. Phasma- or The Giantess, as she was called back then- had been part of the chorus for years, always in the background, never allowed to do anything more than wave her sword around a few times before being defeated by the troupe’s inept star player. She was practicing behind the community theater, hacking through her frustrations and a support beam for the carport when Brendan Hux offered her a First Order Entertainment contract and she had jumped at the chance.

Sleeping with him had come a short time later and was neither a surprise nor particularly unpleasant.

Now, seven years later, Phasma feels that Hux has not followed through. She’s head knight and certainly better off than before, but CEO Snoke’s new favorite boytoy, Kylo, now sits in the seat of honor and reaps all the First Order benefits that Hux promised her so long ago. Hollywood contracts, an elite unit of knights, his own RV. Phasma still bunks with the jousting knights when she’s not sharing Hux’s bed.

Hux is kissing her again. Phasma has nothing against kissing, has no ridiculous rules prohibiting it, no romantic notions about the pressing of mouths. She carefully bites his lower lip as he pulls back, adding fuel to his fire. Phasma squirms a bit as he nudges against her, the lubricated latex sheath cool against her lips. “ Hurry up.” She reaches up and twists his pale pink nipple, squeezing the soft flesh painfully hard. One more bruise by morning.

“ Pha-Phasma… oh God!” Hux is gasping as he slams into her body, immediately establishing a hard and fast rhythm.

Phasma hitches her legs up, locking her ankles in the small of the man’s back. She pinches his other nipple as he pounds mercilessly. Cock in cunt. Thrust and repeat. Such a simple process for such satisfying results. Phasma digs her fingernails into Hux’s shoulders and drags them down his chest, over his abused nipples, drawing blood to the white skin in several places. It encourages Hux to pick up his pace.

It hadn’t taken long for Phasma to figure out that Hux shares her kink for rough play. Most of their initial copulations had been of the quick and dirty nature, due mostly to time constraints and workplace ethics. But as Phasma climbed up the ranks and Hux advanced in status, they had more time and space to do what they pleased. Hux enjoys humiliation, restraints, mild to moderate physical abuse. Phasma enjoys humiliating, restraining, scratching, pinching, slapping, so on and so forth. A perfect match. On an extreme night, they’ll slip into the Dungeon of Doom and play with the torture devices (they’ve used every single item in the museum) until everything below Hux’s collarbone is a bloody and bruised mess and Phasma has a deep seated sense of superior satisfaction.

On slower nights, like tonight, they keep it simple. Hux submits and worships as Phasma demeans and marks.

Phasma bucks her hips, slamming into Hux. It knocks him onto his elbows, sharp chin landing hard on her breastbone. Punishment is inevitable. She grabs a fistful of his hair and shoves his face against her breast, limiting his air supply. He struggles momentarily, their eyes locked in passionate suffering. When his face turns bright red and his tempo slows Phasma relaxes her grip just enough for Hux take in a full breath and fit his mouth over her nipple. He sucks greedily. She leaves deep scratches in his scalp.

Phasma has seen the change in Hux. When they first met, Hux had been an ambitious, power hungry, cold hearted cut-throat. His drive seemed infinite. But when Snoke promoted Kylo Ren alongside Hux… Phasma had thought the competition would be good for Hux, an incentive to strive harder. And it was, at the beginning. Hux was sharper, smarter, occasionally downright cruel and Phasma had revelled in it. Hux was going to be on top and Phasma was going to be by his side when it happened in order to not miss her own opportunity to be on top.

At least, that had been the plan.

Phasma reaches between their bodies with her free hand, fingers spreading the wetness in a few tight circles before focusing on her clit. Hux is going to finish soon- he’s panting and mewling like a wounded animal. Phasma isn’t interested in drawing out tonight’s activities so cumming first takes top priority. Hux has both hands fisted in the sheets at her sides, his body already shaking with imminent climax.

Since she and Hux have been in charge of managing the Takodana Ren Faire, Hux has lost his momentum. While Snoke is sending The Knights of Ren around the world, pimping Kylo to international film studios, Hux has been shackled by a long term management contract in the middle of fucking nowhere. They have gigs outside the season, of course, they wouldn’t survive otherwise, but nothing big, nothing too far away, nothing long term. They always have to come back to Takodana, to cornfields and cows and drunken idiots clapping like trained seals. And Hux seems almost… _complacent_.

Phasma feels the tension racing through her body, muscles ready for release. Five more seconds of vicious clit rubbing and the familiar sensations wash over her. Waves of pleasurable heat, a delightful blurring of her vision, a stuttering inhale that quickly morphs into a satisfied sigh. Hux is still going at it and Phasma is willing to give him thirty more seconds before she shoves him off. She closes her eyes while she waits and ponders her future with the man still stabbing her insides.

Only a few years ago, Hux would have eliminated Kylo Ren by any means possible. Extortion, bribery, force; whatever plotting it required. He would have _made_ it happen. Instead, he seems quite content to sit here in his own personal little kingdom of mud and shit, holding his tongue and playing it safe. As though he’s convinced he can simply wait it out and passively watch the events unfold. An opportunist, instead of the brilliant scheming villain who had given her hope so long ago.

At the twenty-eight second mark, Hux finishes with a few frantic thrusts. Phasma waits for his trembling body to slump atop her before pushing him off with her knees. The full condom slaps wetly across her thigh as his softening cock is dragged from her body. She ignores his slight whimper of pain and leaves the bed. Her street clothes are in a pile on the chair in the corner, prepared for her customary swift exit. Some nights sleeping together is tolerable, but most nights Phasma is more than ready to leave the depressing little trailer that reeks of sex and bureaucracy. And a lingering hint of disappointment nowadays. Hux is silent as he goes about his own routine, stripping the condom from his skin and absently dropping it into the wastebasket near the bed, cleaning himself up with a damp towel. As he moves into the light streaming through the cracked blinds, Phasma gets a better visual of the night’s damage. His chest is an ugly map of red and purple, there’s a bright handprint on his left cheek, and there’s a trickle of blood dripping from his hairline just behind his right ear. Phasma is surprised at the minimal injuries. Maybe they were both overly fatigued. 

Hux falls back onto the bed, kicking his sheets about until he finally settles underneath and remains still. Phasma is bending down to slip on her shoes, her last item of clothing before she can return to her own bed. She glances down at the pale man she’s mauled for the past hour, watching his easy breathing and peaceful expression. Content. She says nothing as she leaves the bedroom.

Phasma does not particularly want to align herself with Kylo Ren, but if Brendan Hux doesn’t return to his senses, and soon… Well, she’ll have to make a new plan, won’t she?

 

**XOXOXOX**

At first, Rey is excited when she’s needed to fill in as a main stage performer because one of the actors is too pregnant to get into the costume anymore. Her occasional sparring sessions with Finn have been fun, so maybe she’ll get to do some fighting, or at least act it out.

Then she sees the costume.

The underdress has trailing white sleeves that are almost as fulsome as the voluminous skirt. And she’s gotten more used to bodices by now, but this one, a flowery gold brocade, laces so tightly she feels a little dizzy in it. Somehow her breasts have far more surface area once it’s laced up and the tops of them are distracting even to her. Additionally, elaborate hair styling is involved, with trailing white ribbons and attachable curls that are apparently potent symbols of maidenhood or some such nonsense.

She hates it. “I can barely move in this thing!” she complains to Gemma after the girl helps her dress.

“Well, Princess Jehanne isn’t really supposed to be able to move much.” Gemma steps back, eyes narrowed critically, and then reaches out to rearrange some curls on Rey’s shoulders. “If it’s any consolation, you look beautiful.”

“It’s not. I feel like an idiot.” Rey plucks at the ribbons disgustedly. “Are you sure there’s no chain mail or anything cool like that? Or weapons?”

Gemma rolls her eyes. “Those things would be distinctly inappropriate for Princess Jehanne. She’s not supposed to do battle, she’s supposed to get rescued and be all swoony and grateful.”

“Gross.”

“I know, girl, trust me.” Gemma gives Rey’s bodice another tug of adjustment. “Sorry I had to lace you so tight, but Carrie’s bigger than you even when she isn’t knocked up.” She pats Rey’s shoulder kindly. “At least a main stage gig pays better, try to look at it that way.”

Rey sighs. At least there’s that.

The main stage is located at the opposite end of the Faire from the jousting field, so that the two biggest attractions are separated by all of the smaller ones designed to part a fool from his coin. This is the first time Rey’s been to the main stage, and she’s actually pretty impressed. The backdrop is a three-story castle with turrets and a drawbridge that extends out over a real moat onto the stage itself. The surrounding amphitheater of rough-hewn benches looks to be able to hold hundreds of spectators.

Right now they’re about half-full, with the next show to commence in fifteen minutes. Rey works her way backstage with the uncomfortable realization that she hasn’t the foggiest idea of what her role is to be, other than what Gemma has told her.

Fortunately, there’s a stage manager, a harried-looking fellow in what look like wizard robes. “Right, then, they found us a princess for this show,” he calls to his backstage personnel. “We can go with the usual blocking. And re-stage the forest, since we’ll need it for the kidnaping scene.”

“Kidnapping scene?” Rey asks uneasily. Gemma really has not given her enough information about this Princess gig.

The stage manager turns to her and whips out a clipboard. “Yes, it’s the second scene of the first act. You’ll enter stage left in the coach, here,” he points to some marks on a paper. “It will stop, and when you hear the bird call, that’s your cue to exit the coach.”

That doesn’t sound hard. “Okay.”

“Then, well, I really hope you’ve had some theater experience...ever acted in a school play, done summer stock, anything?”

“Um, not really.” Rey sees the stage manager visibly wilt. “But I can improvise, I promise. Just tell me what to expect.”

“After you exit the coach, you flee into the Dark Forest, which is located in the trees set up along stage right. You’re lost and frightened for your virtue.”

Oh boy. “My virtue. Right.”

“You will be accosted by one of the Knights of Ren - make sure you do some screaming and resisting, _futilely_ , of course... just make it look good. Then you’ll be brought backstage again.”

“Do I have more scenes after that?”

“The show is mostly swordplay, fight scenes and whatnot. You do have another scene at the end, but I’ll go over that with you when you come back, that way you don’t have to remember too much at one time. That work?”

“Yeah, got it.”

The stage manager helps her up into the coach, which is quite majestic, a shining blue adorned with ornate gold scrollwork.

Inside it’s another story, with rough, unfinished walls and floor and and only a crate to sit on. On the bare wood someone has scrawled _For a good time call Marlowe_ with a crudely detailed rendering of a face being approached by a large cock.

“So much for my virtue,” Rey mutters, as someone calls “Two minutes to curtain!”

She hears the curtain go up to applause that quickly quiets. Actors’ voices onstage become indistinct as the performance begins.

Then the coach lurches and she is being wheeled out. The expected birdcall comes about a minute later, and she pushes open the coach door.

She lifts her skirt in what she hopes is a ladylike manner as she climbs down. Her look of surprise isn’t acting, however, as she is now in the midst of a surprisingly good simulation of a dense green forest, thick with trees. There is a path leading to stage right.

“Princess Jehanne is alone in the Dark Forest!” hollers the narrator. “What perils await her therein?”

Rey remembers a classic Snow White move and flutters her hands in the air, mouth open in terror, as starts an exaggerated, mincing walk. A loud animal sound growls from one direction, and she _eeks_ to laughter from the audience and starts the other way. Another animal sound screeches at her from that direction, and she whirls so fast her skirts almost trip her up. The audience laughs louder, and she wonders if she’s making the show bomb. If she is, at least they won’t ask her to do it again.

Suddenly, a blade appears over her right shoulder, inches from her face. Her gasp isn’t faked, and she stares at it, several feet of dark metal lit stage-lit from above by a red spot.

The audience _oooohhhs_ at this better evidence of peril. Rey can’t turn her head to see her attacker.

“Hast none told thee the Dark Forest is a dangerous place, Princess?” His tone is affected and different, but Rey recognizes the voice. The sword delicately lifts several locks of her hair. “Turn around.”

Slowly, Rey does, and finds herself looking up into the helmeted face of Kylo Ren. “You.” She barely more than whispers it, and it’s not nearly loud enough for the audience to hear, but she sees him shake his head minutely to discourage her from talking.

A hush is over the expectant audience, and the moment seems to last forever. Finally, he sheathes the sword and lifts a gloved hand to take off his helmet. “I can see thou expected a beast, a monster,” he growls, advancing towards her. “Thou art a foolish maiden.”

Rey can feel that her skirts are twisted about her legs in such a way that she’ll fall over if she tries to take a step back, so she’s forced to stay still as he leans in suddenly and sweeps her into his arms.

It’s an obviously practiced move. Her skirts, previously so tightly wound, drape over one of his black-clad arms and her fake hair and white ribbons cascade fetchingly. Her bodice is tugged downward to a point where one deep breath on her part will change the rating of the show. And she can’t help but notice that he’s picked her up as easily as if she were a child. The audience applauds the obviously pretty, if rapacious picture they make.

Kylo’s face is uncomfortably close to hers. “Play along, goddammit,” he mouths at her.

The next sound is her own blood pounding in her ears. She stops thinking clearly and just _acts_. She reaches across her body and grabs one of his gloved hands. His fingers dig into her more tightly but she remembers from some long-ago lesson in self-defense to grasp his pinkie, the weakest finger, and wrench it hard backward.

He reacts with a surprised curse and drops her, which makes her cleavage bounce distractingly above the challenged bodice. She sees his focus slip for just a second, as his dark eyes flick downwards.

“Eyes up here, _creep_ ,” she hisses, and punches him in the face.

The audience gasps as though it’s the most exciting thing they’ve seen all day. He stumbles back, staring at her in shock as blood gushes out of his nose.

Rey casts about her, almost in a panic, when her eyes light upon a fake rock that she knows is normally used in the Camelot show. Someone has forgotten to pull the sword out of it.

She kicks her skirts out of the way and lunges for it. Her fingers scrabble on the hilt and she pulls way harder than necessary. The sword comes free and swings in a wide arc as the audience _aaahhhs_. She notices that the lighting person has now put a spot on her as well.

And the red spot is back on Kylo again. He draws his own sword and advances. “Thou hast made a grievous mistake, Princess,” he grates. “Thou wouldst have been my guest, and now shalt be my prisoner.”

Rey marvels that he’s back in character, improvising even as blood flows down his face, but as soon as she raises the sword to parry his first strike she realizes his intention is to thoroughly humiliate her. The sword feels strange in her hand, the balance very different than a staff, and she has to rely on instinct and fast reflexes to avoid his blade. Still, she hears a few cries of “Go, Princess!” from the crowd, and it encourages her to keep making vain attempts to get inside his guard.

Finally, though, he’s had enough and strikes at her hand. Rey feels her fingers go numb and her sword clatters across the stage. Kylo levels the point of his sword at her breastbone.

He’s breathing as hard as she is, and blood drips from his lips. “Dost thou yield, Princess?”

Rey lifts her chin and glares at him. “I yield, scoundrel.”

The panicked-sounding narrator announces the end of Act One, the audience goes crazy as a gaggle of acrobats and clowns hustle over and haul her offstage.

The second act continues without her, and she seethes impotently, shaking out her hand as the feeling starts to come back. Someone runs up to the stage manager and they both turn to look at her.

The stage manager comes over. “I hate to have to tell you this, but you’re wanted in Mr. Hux’s office at 5pm sharp. Know where that is? It’s the trailer behind the Dungeon of Doom.”

She sighs. “I’m sure I can find it.”

**XOXOXOX**

This is it. Rey knows her ass is so getting fired.

She really wishes that she'd had time to change clothes before going to Hux's office. But she doesn’t want to be late, so she’s still wearing that ludicrous princess dress. 

At his trailer she marshalls all her courage and knocks on the door. She'll walk in there serene and unworried in spite of her runaway bodice and fluffy skirts.

After a moment she hears his voice. "Come in."

A blast of well-conditioned air blasts her in the face as she enters. When the feeling returns to her eyeballs she looks around the room, taking in the high-gloss wood and laminate finishes, the oatmeally upholstery on everything. The boss obviously has the most expensive quarters, but they're still pretty crappy.

Hux sits behind a desk so covered in ledger books and files that it would be utter chaos if they weren't stacked in architecturally perfect columns with his laptop centered between them. His thin lips are in a more neutral position than their usual moue of distaste as he regards her.

"Well. You've certainly made my afternoon interesting." Hux sits forward in his chair and folds his hands in front of him on the desk's 3.3 square inches of free space. "I just spent a half-hour on the phone with our insurer explaining how I allowed a day-player to injure a high-dollar headline performer."

"Did you tell him it's just a flesh wound?" Kylo Ren's sarcastic voice issues from a corner where his height forces him to lean against a table rather than stand straight up in the low-ceiling trailer. An ice pack lies ignored on the table next to him, and the hollows under both of his eyes are starting to bloom purple.

No way is Rey apologizing to him. "You're lucky that's all it is, jerkoff. What did you expect to happen when you basically assault someone?"

"I expect them to know that it's _acting_!" He goes to full-on rage with no transitional expression, roaring at her so loudly that her ears ring and her fists clench involuntarily. "What the fuck is wrong with you, you little idiot?"

"All right, that's enough." Hux's voice still ranges somewhere between bored and vaguely amused. "Let me get this out of the way." He takes a file labeled "personnel" off the stack. "Rey, striking a fellow employee or faire contractor for any reason is a dismissal-worthy offense."

Rey focuses her eyes on the wall behind his head and ignores the flush that creeps angrily up her neck and into her face. "Okay. I assume I'm dismissed, then?"

Now Hux is actually smiling. The sadist. "Oh, far from it." He turns his gaze on Kylo. "Do you want to explain your proposal, or shall I?”

"I want you to eat shit, Hux." If looks could kill, Hux would be a grease stain on his own desk. “It’s not a proposal. It’s what she’s going to do if she wants to keep working here, because you want _me_ to keep working here.”

Hux is still smiling. “Save your tantrums for someone who gets paid to deal with them, such as not myself.” He locates another file and pulls out some papers. “Who do you think negotiated your contract with your attorney? You’re not going anywhere until you fulfill these terms.” He tapped the papers. “Two shows a day, for eight weeks, unless profits from the Knights of Ren show exceed margin by at least twenty-five percent. If that happens, your time is your own again. Not a second before.”

Kylo has no comeback for that but maintains a dire glower as Hux starts typing on his laptop. “Now, back to what we were talking about. In spite of your...improvisations, Rey, the show this afternoon got a very interesting reception.”

Rey finds herself looking at YouTube as a video with lots of wobbly phone-camera work cues up. Her mouth falls open. "Hey. That's...that's me."

"It is indeed. It's a damsel refusing to swoon and then instigating a full-on battle with her nefarious kidnaper." Hux's voice is rich with amusement, but she isn't looking at him, she just winces a little as the Rey on screen punches Kylo in the face and the crowd reacts. "Now take a look at the number of views."

"Two thousand one hundred twenty-six? Is that good?”

“In an hour? It’s fantastic,” Kylo says from his corner, icing his face sullenly.

Hux nods. “Social media moves at light speed. Apparently some audience members started filming the show, posting their videos, and hashtags like ‘saucywench’ and ‘princesskickass’ and ‘medeivalforeplay’ are now trending on Twitter and Instagram.

Rey watches as Hux clicks another video, one that captures the sword fight as it ends with her standing tall and insolent against the point of Kylo’s sword. The sound of the crowd erupting in cheers of “Yeah!” and “Huzzah!” and “Hail Princess Jehanne!” all around the person doing the filming unknots her stomach a little.

She hasn’t screwed up. Or, maybe she has, but the Faire’s paying customers _loved it_. And that’s what matters to Hux. She looks up from the screen.

He’s watching her face. “I’m going to give you two options. Option one: I fire you, and you pack your things and leave the Faire premises by end of day.”

Rey swallows hard. “And the other option?”

“Option two: you’ll be apprenticed to the Knights of Ren show for the rest of its run at the Faire. That means main stage pay, so a raise for you.” He points to Kylo. “It also means you report to him, as he insists he’ll need to train you properly so you don’t mortally wound anyone, or yourself. I concur, as I really don’t need to deal with a lawsuit this season.”

Rey doesn’t answer for a moment, she just weighs the options - leave her new friends and hit the road again, without the Falcon since there’s no way she could buy Finn out on her meager earnings. Or stay, make more money, and work closely every day under Kylo Ren.

She looks over at him, and he returns her stare until she feels like he’s actually trying to pull the thoughts right out of her head. Screw him.

She looks back at Hux and makes her decision. “I’ll take option two.”

 

_tbc_


	4. Verily, Nobody Puts Rey in a Corner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, want to say a thousand thanks to every one who kudos/comments! It's amazing motivation!!! We're just so happy that others are into this weirdness, too :D 
> 
> Frack can put me in any corner of her choosing, anytime <3

**Chapter 3: Verily, Nobody Puts Rey in a Corner**

When Kylo's new apprentice (as he prefers to think of her, just to keep things professional) shows up on Monday morning, the rest of the Knights are already done with their warm-up and are sparring with practice weapons. 

Through his custom Oakley Flak sunglasses he watches her hesitate on the edges of the practice area, seemingly caught up in watching Gianni wielding a quarterstaff to fend off the dual sword attacks of Christopher and Bram. Kylo motions to Savion, who is walking off a sore hamstring nearby.

"That the girl from Saturday?" Savion asks.

Kylo nods. "Go get her and bring her over here."

Savion rolls his eyes a little. "Try not to spook her too much on her first day of practice, okay?"

Kylo gives him a level stare. "If I want your opinion I'll ask you for it."

Savion shrugs and trots off across the field, giving the still-battling trio a wide berth. Kylo sees Rey startle when he jogs up to her, but she shakes his hand when he offers it, and then lets him escort her back to Kylo.

Kylo struggles to read her lips as she approaches, but all he can discern is whatever she's saying makes Savion laugh and shake his head.

By the time she's standing in front of him the pleasant expression has fallen off her face. "Well, I'm here."

Kylo glances at his watch. "Forty-five minutes late."

She bristles. "All Hux said was to show up at your practice field today. And for your information, I came by like forty minutes ago, and nobody was here."

"That's because we were out on 68 for a run. You know, warming up? It's a thing people do when they're about to engage in physical exertion."

She crosses her arms over her chest in a gesture of obstinacy that doesn't quite detract from the embarrassed flush across her cheekbones. "You could've let me know when I was supposed to be here. I'm not a mind-reader."

"Your van-mate was supposed to let you know. I gave him the message on Friday."

Rey doubts this is true, because Finn has told her nothing and she’s sure he would have relayed a message, even from Kylo. She makes a disgusted sound. "Next time just tell me, okay? Is that so hard?"

A discussion on why the idea of simple, direct conversation with her bothers him is not on the table right now, so Kylo simply points to an unoccupied area of the practice field. "Go do some calisthenics until I call for you. And tomorrow show up at eight. That's a.m., just so you know."

Having her at a distance across the field gives him an opportunity to watch her without having to worry about it, so he props his sunglasses on his head and watches. Based on her faded Jedi Exile t-shirt (which pisses him off for reasons he’s not going to think about) he would have expected her to be a lazy hippie and wilt like a cheap flower crown from hard exertion in the humid morning heat. But she runs through sequences of jumping jacks, pushups and burpees with no pause and finishes up with suicide drills along one end of the field. Several minutes into her warm-up Savion digs in a cooler and throws her a bottle of water, which she takes a few fast chugs of before starting over.

So of course Kylo can't concentrate at all. He walks over to the Knights, who have now paired off for one-on-one sparring. "Christopher," he calls. "Take five. I want Gianni to run the new girl through some forms."

Christopher goes for water while Gianni comes over to meet Rey. Kylo has chosen him specifically because he tops out at five-eight and his slight build is the most similar to hers. Contrary to what people might think, he doesn't want to do her any unnecessary damage, or at least while he figures out what she can do other than flail around with a fake sword.

Plus, Gianni is patient and mild-mannered, annoyingly so at times. He should be able to move Rey through a sword drill without bringing her to tears. And this will also allow Kylo to continue evaluating her and not have to apologize for a level of scrutiny that he knows is going to register a high creep-factor before the day is over.

Gianni goes through the forms first by himself at half-speed. Then he flows through them again at full speed. He has Rey stand next to him and slightly behind so that she can replicate what he's doing without having to translate a right-to-left mirroring.

She moves easily through the forms at normal speed and it's clear that she has had some martial arts training. Kylo has them progress to more complicated sequences, and finally has them face off and oppose each other for very simple offensive and defensive drills. He has them drill at half-speed so that no one can inadvertently hurt the other with the wooden practice swords - the last thing he needs is Rey with broken fingers or a concussion. He makes a mental note to order protective gear in her size, as well as practice swords more suited to her. Overnight shipping is going to soak him for about four hundred bucks, but he is gradually, grudgingly starting to feel like it's worth it.

Because she's good. She has a good base of physical knowledge already, and balances and moves with a flowing precision that suggests a dance background as well as some martial arts training. She even seems to have an understanding that she's not supposed to battle Gianni, but simply meet each of his attacks and move on to the next position. In no time at all they're going full-speed, and she is able to switch from defensive to offensive without a break as they move back and forth.

Gianni finally calls a stop. "You're doing great, but I don't want to move beyond what we’re doing until you have gear."

Kylo is about to agree when Rey interrupts. "I want to try it with the quarterstaff, I'm actually a lot better with it. Can I?" Her t-shirt is almost completely soaked, and she arms sweat off her forehead. She looks as though she should be dropping in the dirt about now, but she's practically glowing with excitement.

Kylo gets up and grabs a staff off the rack. He tosses it and she picks it easily out of the air and gives it a flashy twirl. 

"That's pretty, but you'd better be able to do a little bit more than just prance around like a majorette," he tells her blandly.

"Who's prancing?" She pulls out of the twirl and drops immediately into a defensive stance with her weight braced on staggered legs and the staff in the engagement position.

The other Knights, annoyingly, clap and hoot at her challenge. Gianni puts up his hands in mock surrender. "She's a machine, man. I need a break."

Kylo tips his sunglasses back down onto his nose and grabs his practice sword. This should be interesting. He takes a neutral stance facing her and mentally formulates a plan to disarm her with minimal pain, or just enough to serve as an important lesson.

She attacks immediately, knocking his sword down and out of position before darting in to strike his shoulder and then deflecting his sword as he brings it up again. While he's still registering that she's hit him, she's already danced back out of his reach and into a low guard stance.

His shoulder smarts, but he doesn't think about that, or about the fact that he can’t quite keep a half-smile off his face.

He's ready for her next few forays and uses them to learn that her main strategy is to get inside his guard, score a hit and then return to where the staff's longer reach gives her an advantage. After that, he makes sure to close on her before she can do it, forcing her to engage in ways she's not used to. It becomes clear that her staff training has been against another staff-wielder, not a swordsman. Instinct and speed are only going to get her so far.

She starts making stupid mistakes after that. Granted, she only makes them once before trying something new, but finally he can see her start to tire of fending him off repeatedly.

She swings wide and can't parry fast enough. His sword impacts her staff and slides along its surface all the way to her right hand. Here he can take advantage of superior strength and with a vicious downward twist, he forces one end of the staff into the ground. He plants his foot so that their legs are braced against each other, again giving him an advantage. At this point all he has to do is push. Unable to dislodge her staff from the thick turf, she goes down under the strain of their combined weight.

"Uhlghh." She grunts and rolls to her knees before popping back up and grabbing the staff. "You're gigantic and you fight dirty."

"So you want to go again?" This time he knows he's smiling and strangely enough, he doesn't give a shit. It's been a long time since this was actually _fun_.

Rebellious, she grins back. "Hell yeah I do!"

"Then you need to do better this time."

The other Knights have stopped what they're doing to watch, and Gianni, being the only other person who can really hold his own against Kylo with a staff, starts calling out pointers to Rey.

If Kylo were a different kind of person, one who cared, he'd take it personally.

Rey continues to improve as they work together. Kylo wants to keep her on her toes, though, because face it, things are way more interesting when she might lose her temper. He takes advantage of a water break to pick up the sword she was using earlier, and holds it out to her. "Do you remember the drills you did with this?"

She stops chugging water long enough to roll her eyes. "It was barely an hour ago, so, yeah."

"Good." He faces off with her and starts through the same drills he'd watched her do with Gianni. He's sure she must be tired, but her speed and control are still good. 

Gradually, he adds a thrust here, a strike there. "Watch my eyes."

He half expects her to protest but she doesn't, just locks her gaze on his as they continue. "Why is it that I feel like I can anticipate what you're going to do next?" Her breathing is finally fast and uneven as she parries and dodges.

He's surprised to find he's breathing just as hard as she is. "Because that's how it's supposed to work." 

He doesn't say that it's never worked quite this well with anyone else. He's never found the strange synchronicity he feels right now, while sparring with anyone else in the universe. He's never found this kind of serenity during meditation, and he's never felt this kind of connectedness during sex. He doesn't even have a name for this emotion, if that's what it is.

But it's pleasant and simple and right-feeling, and therefore he has to kill it off. He flicks his gaze down, deceives Rey with a feint to her unprotected left, and when she brings up her blade to clinch against his on the horizontal he grabs her sword hand with his left, twists it downward, and in less than a second has disarmed her. He mimes a follow-up strike with her sword in his left hand, and then steps back to take in a hot, hurt look from her.

It earns him boos from his colleagues on the sidelines. "Unsportsmanlike," Bram comments and "Is that a surprise?" is Christopher's rejoinder.

"No one's paying you for your commentary," Kylo tells them. "Get back to work."

He keeps to himself after that, watching and making notes as each of the Knights works with Rey, all of them considerably more gracious than he'd been, not that he gives a damn. 

The heat is absolutely oppressive by noon and as he sees the others finishing up their practice he strips off his black Underarmour and tosses it aside. Then he calls his voicemail and leaves himself a long, detailed message about why Takodana Renaissance Festival is the armpit of the universe and why he’d literally rather be at the bottom of the Marianas Trench in a soda can than here. It helps take the edge off his irritation and has the added benefit that his important-phone-conversation-glower is enough to keep the others from approaching him.

Usually. When he turns around to close up the weapons and armour trailer, Rey is standing there. Staring at him. 

He forgets he’s supposed to be talking on the phone. “What do you want?”

“Um.” She gestures at him. “I can wait until you’re done talking.”

“I’m done.” He picks up his shirt, about to put it back on, but then figures, what the fuck, her staring doesn’t make him uncomfortable. Maybe she shouldn’t stare, it’s rude. He takes a deep breath, reaching for calm. “What do you want?” he repeats, a little more patiently this time.

The movement of her eyes feels like the feather-light touch of a finger, just for a second before she focuses on his face again. “I didn’t mean to wait until practice was over. I wanted to ask you to show me that move you did, when you disarmed me.”

“That? That was nothing. It’s based on the tai chi sword form.” He shrugs. “You just weren’t expecting it.”

Her gaze sharpens. “I know some tai chi. Show it to me,” she orders, as if she expects him to just snap to and _do it_.

Which, to his own internal amazement, is exactly what he does. He picks up one of the practice swords from the rack to demonstrate. “Bring the sword up, transfer from your right hand to your left, and complete.” He’s aware of her eyes, intent on each minute muscle contraction.

She takes one of the other practice swords and mirrors his movement. “Okay. That doesn’t seem like what you did when you disarmed me, though.”

She’s much easier to tolerate when she’s focusing on what he’s teaching her. “It is and it isn’t. What you just did is the finishing movement of the form, except without switching sword hands.” He faces off in front of her. “Bring your blade up so I can show you how it works.”

She brings up the blade, and he brings his into a clinch with hers. “Now, when you’re in a clinch, your opponent can just as easily use this move on you so you have to act quickly.”

“Speaking of which, you don’t have to go so slow. Do it faster.” She makes a frustrated face at him, blowing a strand of sweaty hair out of her eyes.

“If I go faster it’s not going to do you any good,” he admonishes. “Again. Bring your blade up so I can engage you.”

She does, and he crosses blades with her. “Don’t try to advance. Just come from underneath with your left hand, like in the form.” She does it, hand more on the hilt of his sword. “Not the sword, my wrist.” Her fingers move, hot on his skin. “Now scoop the sword up, twist my wrist down and twist it out of my hand.”

She follows his instructions, and he stands back when she’s holding both swords. “See?”

She’s grinning, almost jumping up and down. “Again! And show me that strike thing afterward!”

They do it again, faster, and he shows her how to follow through with a strike towards his throat. Her movements refine easily, and on her last attempt he has to duck out of the way, the sword comes at him so fast. 

“Shit, I felt the wind from that one, princess,” he mocks. “Try not to give me another black eye, okay?”

“Oh, Sifu is worried about his pretty face!” she crows, grinning. “Maybe _you_ should be the princess in the next show!”

She is fucking adorable right now, with her crazy hair and flushed face and that infuriating sweat-soaked Jedi Exile shirt. She’s got grass and dirt ground into both knees and a bruise forming high up on her left thigh. 

He realizes he’s grinning back at her, like a complete tool. He has no idea what to say. Not even some cutting remark about her clumsiness (because she’s graceful as a fucking gazelle) or her slow learning (because she absorbs new things like a sponge) or anything else he might use to cut her down.

He doesn’t even _want_ to cut her down. He wants to keep showing her new things and having her do them perfectly and then, what the fuck, then he wants to wrestle and maybe make out a little and _slow your roll Kylo_ Jesus fuck. It’s not like you even want her here, right? _Right_?

There’s nothing he can do about it, but she’s reacting to whatever uncontrolled emotions are crossing his face, and he would do literally anything to keep her from talking right now, but she’s looking concerned and biting her lip and apologizing. “Hey, I was kidding, you know? Just being dumb. I don’t really think -”

“Seriously, I couldn’t care less what you think,” he interrupts her before she can say something that’s going to torture him with the memory of it literally every night, forever. “We’re done. Be here when you’re supposed to be here tomorrow, and you won’t have to waste my time afterward.” 

He turns his back on her, blood pounding in his ears so that he doesn’t hear if she says another word. He throws the practice swords into the weapons trailer and slams the door before giving the combination lock a vicious spin. Then he turns and walks away, feeling her eyes on his back until he crosses the treeline and can break into a run.

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

“ I’ve seen that guy with the General a lot.” Rey gives the barest nod toward a tall, elderly bald man picking through the wide selection of pasta salads. “ Mr. Potts, right?” 

Poe flicks his glance where she indicates and smiles. “ Christopher Potts. He’s the historical protocol and etiquette coach, basically keeps us true to the Bard’s spirit. You ever need help with your proper Elizabethan speech, he’s the man to see. Since I deal mostly with slurs and sonnets.” 

Rey laughs and makes a mental note to approach Mr. Potts before the next work day. She can’t keep bothering Poe with all her renfaire fails. No matter how generous the older man is.

The moment she and Finn had wandered into the crowded area for the General’s Week 3 Picnic, bowl of mushy potato salad in hand, Poe had taken charge of them, with BB8 frolicking at their heels. Poe followed them down the heavily laden food tables and introduced them to people they’d only seen in passing as they worked. No one, as wonderful as many of the people here are, has looked after them as much as Poe. Since day one, really. Rey sometimes wonders if, with his propensity toward adopting small creatures, Poe sees them as lost puppies. “ Is Artie his wife?” She takes a sip of her lemonade and watches the petite Jamaican-born woman fill her plate with cucumber-tomato salad and cornbread. 

“ Yep. Aretha Deetoo. Armourer, farrier, vet and all around bad ass bitch.” Poe’s look of admiration is unmistakeable. He shakes a chicken leg in her direction. “ I’ve seen her stare down the biggest, baddest bikers and tell off drunken frat boys without batting a lash. She’s absolutely fearless.” 

“ Who’s fearless? Rey?” Finn slides onto the bench next to Rey, plate a veritable mountain of carbs and protein. “ I can vouch for that.” He lowers a scrap of ham under the table between his leg and Rey’s, where BB8 is generously accepting all edible donations. 

Rey smiles around her mouthful of greens before looking back up at her tablemates. “ Poe’s been telling me about our co-workers. It’s been very interesting.” 

Finn attacks his second plate of food with gusto. “ Poe’s an interesting guy.” He tosses the older man a small smile before stuffing his face. 

Rey doesn’t miss the glint of pure glee in Poe’s dark eyes. She settles more deeply into her plate and people watches as she eats and Poe supplies a constant stream of amusing anecdotes. Like, how Leia’s ex, Han, and that huge biker/artisan, Chewie, built the Black Pearl pirate ship years ago for Kylo when he was a little kid. Or how Bazi and Korr, two of the fire-eaters, were once caught making out in the tower of Takodana Castle. And how last year a tornado tore through the nearby farms and the faire became a makeshift corral for displaced livestock. 

“ It was a total madhouse. I can’t tell you how many times we had to haul alpacas out of Hux’s trailer.” 

Rey is still giggling when she suddenly recognizes an Eagles’s song playing over the speakers set up on Leia’s front porch. “ _Running down the road…_ One of my foster mothers was a huge Eagles fan. I don’t think she ever played anything else.” A few people are making their way to a clear spot on the side of the house near the speakers, dancing in clumps of twos and threes. 

“ Fun song.” Finn is leaning over a half eaten corn on the cob, already humming the tune.

Poe is out of his seat in a heartbeat. “ Dance with me?” He extends his hand toward Finn, palm up, fingers curled slightly in invitation. Eyebrows waggling above mischievous eyes. 

Finn pulls a face. “ I-uh-I’ve got a lot to eat.” He fiddles with the cob, obviously uncomfortable with the attention. Finn’s eyes dart over to Rey, begging. “ Dance with Rey. I bet she’d love it.”

“ Can speak for myself, thank you.” Rey mumbles under her breath. She’s not so offended that she misses the slight fall of Poe’s expression. Without thinking twice, Rey jumps up and steps around to Poe’s side of the table. She takes the offered hand. “ Let’s dance, Sir Poe.” 

“ Have fun, you two.” Finn gives an awkward smile and goes back to his corn. 

Poe bows over Rey’s hand, face brightening, and leads her to the impromptu dance floor. She’s a bit self conscious, because, well, she hasn't danced in nearly a decade and these people move like dancing is how they get paid. Poe playfully swings their joined hands and easily sweeps her into a simple two-step. Standing so close, Rey realizes he’s not that much taller than her; about the same height as Finn. Rey can feel her cheeks heating up. Embarrassed by the warmth of his hand on the small of her back, the callouses on his fingertips brushing her hand. She keeps her head down, watching her feet. Stealing glances of her partner every few seconds so she doesn’t seem rude.

Poe doesn’t appear fazed at all. He hums along with the music, his footwork simple. He’s smiling gently each time Rey looks up and offers a, “ This is actually not as awkward as I anticipated.” 

Rey’s shy smile cracks into a grin. “ I never had an older brother, but I imagine this is what it’s like.”

“ Weird sexual tension loaded with guilt?” 

Rey laughs outright. Poe spins her in a lazy circle and she glimpses Finn still at the table. Leia is there now, a plate of pie in front of her, discussing one thing or another. Finn is very obviously not watching them. Poe is very obviously keeping his back to Finn. Rey decides to make an ass of herself and verbalize her suspicions. She gives Poe her full attention. “ You’re really into him, aren’t you?” 

“ Absolutely.” Poe blinks, caught by his own unguarded admission, and gives the smallest shrug. “ It’s stupid, I know.” 

“ I don’t think it’s stupid. Finn’s a really great guy.” Rey stumbles, but Poe keeps her balance and she recovers quickly. “ Just a bit, you know, dense.” 

“ Ain’t that the truth.” Poe snickers, then slides back into pensive sighing. “ There’s just something about him, you know? I was watching the joust try-outs, and he got thrown twice from that ill tempered gelding of Phasma’s, Galahad. And instead of getting pissed off at the horse, I saw him go out of his way to find an apple to take to the beast in his stall.” His mouth quirks into a thoughtful expression. “ I don’t think I’ve ever met a guy so genuinely… innocent. Gods, I really am stupid.”

“ Stop saying that.” Rey flicks his ear. The music changes to some kind of honky-tonk ballad and Rey follows Poe’s miniscule changes in style, her partner keeping the same tempo (probably for her unpracticed sake). She thinks about her recent experiences sharing space with Finn, grimacing at the memory of him freaking out over her bras hanging to dry in the bathroom. “ He’s definitely innocent and dense, but I honestly think he’s into you, too.” 

Poe looks over her shoulder, and Rey knows he’s looking at the topic of their discussion. He rolls his expressive eyes and grins down at her. “ Yeah, I think he is.” Poe dips her, nearly to the ground, and she squeals, laughing as he lifts her back up. Rey catches Finn watching them before she returns her attention to Poe, who is chewing on his lower lip in thought. “ So what should I do? I’ve been moving slow, trying not to scare him off. You see how well that’s been working.” He rolls his shoulders in a light shrug.” Been hell on my self-control, I can tell ya.”

Rey nods slowly, giving it proper thought. “ Well, I haven’t got much experience in this department, either, but… Maybe some one on one time? I mean, definitely don’t jump him or anything-”

“ No jumping. Noted.”

“ But maybe spend a few days together, just the two of you. Close quarters breeds familiarity or whatever. Oh, sorry.” Rey steps on his toes. 

Poe doesn’t even flinch. “ No worries. So, I should… invite him to the farm? Maybe let him practice riding the horses. Take him up in the plane, get his adrenaline going a bit. By the way, you are totally invited to do all those things any time other than this one time, okay?” 

Rey chuckles. She’s starting to get the hang of this and she’s actually having fun. “ I’ll hold you to it.” Poe senses her blooming confidence and ups the pace, swinging her out arm’s length then twirling her back in close. In the random moments when she’s aimed in his direction, Rey notices that Finn is looking their way more often than not now. Looking decidedly wistful. 

“ What about you, fair lady? Got your eye on any of the young doxies and rapscallions about the place?” Poe’s hand presses firmly against her back, steering her around a quartet of tipsy women from the Red Tent. They stumble their way toward the edge of the large pond, apparently hoping for some fun with the more sociable members of the Knights of Ren lounging there in the glow of citronella torches. Rey had happily said her hellos to each one when she and Finn stepped off the chain ferry earlier. Finn had been more restrained in his greetings.

Rey frowns. “ Too busy staying out of trouble. And that is definitely the kind of trouble I want to stay out of.” She braves a little skip in her step and is rewarded with Poe mirroring it. Bram, Christopher, Gianni, and Savion are enthusiastically entertaining their visitors, the clink of beer bottles and easy laughter clear over the music. Across the pond there’s a blur of black clothing and cigarette smoke sitting on top of the RV parked next to the Knights’ trailer. Rey can’t make out any details in the silhouette cut into the orange light from the setting sun, but she’s pretty damn sure it’s Kylo. 

“ Aw, come on. I can introduce you to this very limber acrobat. Perfect for a few nights of fun without any strings attached.” Poe gives a wicked grin and ducks under her arm, letting her twirl him. 

“ Uh, no thanks, “ Rey answers when they’re face to face again.” It takes all my energy to deal with Emo-Kylo on a daily basis. I don’t see how the other guys put up with his holier-than-thou crap. ” She glances at the man-shaped-blur in question; he’s lying down now, one long leg crossed over his raised knee. How can he be within sight of his mother’s house and _not_ stop by, just for a minute? Rey lowers her voice, tilting her chin up to get her mouth closer to Poe's ear, not wanting Leia to overhear.” Poe, I’m being serious. Is he bipolar or something? I mean, emotionally he’s all over the place. He was actually a decent human being during training and even _smiled_ and then, suddenly, he just shit all over me and I don’t know what the hell happened!” She’s practically growling. “ He’s the very definition of frustrating.” 

Poe shakes his head, keeping his own voice just above a whisper as he leans in to speak directly into her ear. “ I don’t know all the details, but apparently he had a sucky childhood- much like the majority of the world- and instead of dealing with it he went buckwild. His parents couldn’t rein him in, so he stayed with his uncle for a while and there was some big blow up one night and the proverbial shit hit the fan and Kylo was gone. My understanding is that he went straight to First Order and Leia was too stunned to fight the emancipation suit afterwards.” Poe’s expression is sympathetic, his gaze glancing at Leia still talking to Finn at the table. 

“ That’s awful.” Rey keeps Kylo in her periphery, the sunset limning his outline. It must be so hard for Leia to have him here and not be able to approach him. It’s awful for Leia, but, in a way, Rey feels a bit sorry for Kylo, too. Just a tiny bit. 

“ I know. It really is.” Poe pulls her into a brief hug. “ And since he’s ruined his own life, he’s intent on dragging everyone else down with him. “ He waltzes her around Mr. Potts and Artie, the older couple engaged in a vigorous twist-and-shout competition.” I can’t believe he actually smiled. Maybe it was gas? ” Poe pulls a face, but sobers quickly. “ Joking aside, be careful around him. Not trying to scare you, just… I don’t trust him. He’s unpredictable. And not in a fun rom-com kinda way. ” 

“ Got it.” Rey offers up her pinkie. “ No non-essential fraternizing with the enemy.” 

“ Though, he _is_ hella sexy.” Poe smiles and links his larger little finger with hers. Instead of letting go, he twists his wrist and folds his hand around her palm. “ Ever see _Dirty Dancing_?” 

Rey smells a challenge. “ Once? I fell asleep halfway through.” 

“ Remember the lift?” Poe dips her again.

“ I remember the guy said the girl could hurt him if she didn’t do it right.” Rey hangs on to Poe’s arms as he brings her back up and releases her.

“ Then you remember the lift. On three. One…” Poe backs up and makes shooing motions toward Rey.

Rey takes a few steps back, quickly scanning the area for any obstacles. The other dancers apparently sense a stunt and are clearing the space. “ Two…” She leans forward, ready to launch.

Poe hunkers down, bracing himself. Wide smile stretching his tan features. “ Three!” 

Rey runs full tilt, putting all her energy into springing up the second Poe’s hands grip her hips. 

For one amazing moment, Rey is flying. 

“ Shiiiiiaaahhhh!” And then the moment is over and she’s falling on top of Poe’s collapsing figure. 

Amidst the shouts of concern and Finn’s panickings and Poe’s groaning apologies and Rey’s own requests for forgiveness, Rey is certain she saw Kylo’s silhouette watching them. 

She’s also just as certain that she imagined his laughter.

 

_tbc_


	5. The Biggest Lies Are the Ones We Tell Ourselves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, dear readers, for missing the Sunday posting goal this week!
> 
> And, more importantly, a YOOOOOGE thank you to everyone reading our story! It makes us both really happy to know you guys are enjoying it and looking forward to each update. Thou has our eternal adoration and gratitude, lords, ladies and other kind folk! <3 <3 <3

Rey loves living with Finn. 

For the most part. 

True to his word, Finn is very clean and quiet and cooks more food than she can possibly eat in any one sitting. 

He hides his morning wood from her until he can get into the bathroom to take care of it. 

Finn is kind, considerate, sweet, and thoughtful. 

And occasionally a pain in the ass.

Like how Finn is ridiculously uncomfortable around Rey’s undergarments. And her body. Rey does her own laundry and line-dries her bras and panties and anything else she doesn’t need to spend fifty cents on a drier at the public campground laundromat for. If she asks him to grab them off the line because of rain, he does so, but it’s painfully obvious he can barely stand to touch the boring cotton garments. He stands outside the RV when she showers and won’t come back in until she calls him from the door, fully dressed. He showers and dresses in the tiny cramped bathroom. When they help each other get into their complicated work uniforms ( in order to sleep in later in the mornings), Finn always hesitates to button or lace Rey into her costumes. Once, she even caught him buttoning her up with his eyes closed. Impressive, to the say the least, but also a bit extreme.

And Rey didn’t realize that Finn’s definition of quiet is to be practically mute. She’s told him several times that she doesn’t mind if he turns on the radio or takes his phone calls inside in the A/C. And that he doesn’t have to ask permission to use the shower while she’s reading or for Poe to come in for a visit. On one occasion Finn left to run an errand and returned so silently that Rey didn’t realize he was back and had the shit scared out of her when she slid down from her bunk and stepped on a living body in the bed below. 

As a foster kid, Rey gets it. Making oneself as unintrusive as possible. She really, truly gets it. But Finn’s been on his own for five years now and Rey has to wonder when these kind of old habits will die off. This is his home, just as much as it is hers and she wants him to treat it like his home. Not somewhere he’s being graciously allowed to sleep until a better offer comes along. 

Eventually she’ll get that through his impossibly thick skull. Until then…

“ Will you do the back buckles?” 

There’s hesitation, like always, but just as Rey predicts, Finn answers in the affirmative. “ Uh, yeah. Yeah. Here.” 

Rey smiles at his awkwardness, annoying but so darn adorable. She bends slightly, hands on the dining table as she leans forward and watches his serious expression reflected in the window. His fingers barely brush against her compression bra as he fumbles with the lacing and buckles. Since they’re both here, she might as well make the best of the situation. “ So, are you really this uncomfortable around women? Or is it just me?” By throwing more weirdness into it. 

“ I’m not uncomfortable around you.” His face doesn’t change in the window, his voice is soft and offhand. “ You’re like my sister.” 

“ Do you have any sisters?” Rey asks just as quietly, not sure if she’s prodding too much into a personal matter. 

“ No, but I had a lot of girl cousins I grew up with. And a few foster families with girls.” Finn doesn’t seem upset at the line of questioning. She can feel his fingers on the buckle just below her ass. “ I know how to do a French braid.” Quirk of his lips.

“ So why does it freak you out to be around my girlie things and/or parts?” Rey is truly curious. 

Finn’s reflection shrugs. “ My grandmother was… strict. Westboro Baptist-strict, living-in-a-compound- strict. The boys were always put together and the girls had their own separate room and no one walked around half dressed except the babies.” He tugs on a buckle. “ And nobody talked about puberty or sex unless it was to tell us how sinful we were for even thinking about our bodies or, heaven forbid, someone else’s.” Another buckle. “ I didn’t even know what a girl’s period was until I was put into foster care.” 

Rey nods. As long as all her bits are covered, he isn’t put off by her. He kinda treats her like one of the guys, which she’s accustomed to. And which makes perfect sense now. “ So, I guess you were a bit sheltered? In a bad way.” 

Finn snorts. “ Yeah, that’s a nice way to put it.” He’s at her lower back now. 

Rey gives this some thought as Finn struggles with the leather tabs and small buckles. Eventually, she ventures a bit further down the perilous path of traumatic childhoods. “ Did you ever, you know, date anyone?” 

“ Kinda.” Finn frowns in the window. 

Well, Rey is pretty sure that translates to Not Much. “ Dated anyone in a while?” Because that can’t possibly be misconstrued.

Finn doesn’t appear to pick up on the pointed nosiness. “ A couple years, I guess. How about you?” 

Rey is not prepared to have her own nosiness thrown back at her. “ No one.” Definitive answer with a vague timeline. Awesome. 

He seems to be having trouble with the last buckle. “ Here, pull against me.” She feels his grip tighten on the buckle and she leans toward the window, fingers gripping the edges of the table. Finn pulls at the strap, his dark eyes meeting hers in the window. Suspicious. “ Are you interested in someone, Rey?” 

Shit, again with the questions she’s trying to get _him_ to answer. “ Not really. What about you?” This is like a freaking tennis match. Back and forth, back and forth. And they’re both just lobbing the ball hard enough to the clear net and make the other person scramble. 

His eyes go back to his work and she feels him pulling at the costume. “... Not really, I guess.” He’s just as evasive as she is. Rey flinches as some skin gets pinched in the cinching. 

Then her eyes open wide as a figure passes outside the window and slowly walks backward to stand in front of it, evil smirk spread wide across his face. Poe. Finn can’t see him, her body blocking the view of his head and shoulders in the window frame. Poe raises one brow and looks questioningly at Rey through the tempered glass. Rey suddenly realizes that with her bent over the table, making faces, and Finn right behind her, his hands on her back, it would look to anyone who happens to be walking by as though they are rutting like bunnies. Rey lowers her head to the table, sighing. 

“ I’m almost done, promise.” Finn misinterprets her dismay. “ Last one.”

“ It’s okay, just tired.” Rey looks back up. 

Poe obviously isn’t going to let this opportunity for teasing pass him by. He begins mouthing, _” What the fuck?_ ” And pulls out his phone, making sure she sees him press the video function. 

Rey is about to flip him off, but gets a much better idea. The window is cracked at the bottom for airflow, just enough for voices to carry. “ What about Poe?” Poe narrows his eyes, shaking his head in disapproval of her dirty tactics. Then he bolts toward the door. 

Finn is patting the last finished buckle and has no clue. “ … What about Poe?” 

That incriminating hesitation again. Rey grins. “ You know, I think he-”

“ Good morn, fair sir and gentle lady!” The RV door flies open and Poe springs inside, joyous greetings echoing against the hard surfaces. His loaded gaze is locked onto Rey, the message clear. _Touche, little lady!_

“ Dude, knock first!” Finn moves his body in front of her, his overprotective instincts kicking in. “ She just got dressed!” 

Rey gives a hard eye-roll and straightens up from the table, hip-bumping Finn out of her way. “ I’ve been _dressed_ for a while now. Just not buckled. And thank you for doing that for me every morning.” 

“ It’s just because he doesn’t trust the Knights of Ren not to ravish you if you let them do it at their trailer.” Poe snickers and leans against the driver’s seat. He’s wearing his usual brown and orange outfit, lute in place on his back. “ Also, BB8 is watering your tires. There was nothing I could do to stop him.” 

Finn laughs. “ Kills the weeds. How’s your back? ” 

“ Nothing a day spent in bed, with a heating pad and a handful of anti-inflammatories couldn’t mostly fix,” Poe replies, one hand gingerly massaging his lower back.

Rey doesn’t miss the uncertainty in Finn’s eyes or the way his gaze lingers on Poe just a second longer than common courtesy normally calls for. She waits for him to offer a backrub or something, but Finn looks down at his gear and Rey fills the awkward pause. “ Here, let’s get you into your tin foil before we’re late and Phasma will have all our asses.” Rey picks up the cuisses and hands them to Poe. “ You’ve been demoted to squire.” She takes the greaves for herself. 

Poe gives an exaggerated sigh and kneels on the floor at Finn’s feet. “ Yes, milady.” He sticks his tongue out at her while Finn is busy checking over his breastplate. 

Rey returns the gesture and they both start laughing. 

“ What’s so funny?” Finn’s attention has been captured. “ Hey, those are the only clean socks I have left.” 

Rey and Poe continue to gasp and snicker as Finn becomes ever more paranoid about his tie-dyed footwear. 

Yeah, Rey really, really loves living with Finn. 

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

“ Your girl seems to be doing well, Kylo.” 

“ What do you want, Phasma?” 

Phasma smirks at the cold response. This will be so much easier if Kylo’s actually in the mood to speak to her. 

They are standing side by side at the list, in front of the Royal box where the Queen and retinue are seated, sweating, in full regalia. The Knights of Ren are currently showing off a bit of skill before the joust begins, a preview of their performance that will commence in the theater shortly after the joust. Three of the black clad knights are standing at attention behind Kylo, several paces away. A dozen of Phasma’s Knights of the Storm stand at her back, done with their own displays of archery and melee combat. Her jousting knights for this show , four in all, are already on horseback, lined up at the far end of the arena near the stable. There’s just enough shade there to keep them from overheating in the afternoon sun. 

Tourists are on the other side of the arena behind their own list with a hay bale retaining wall as an extra reminder not to cross onto the field of battle. Phasma generally tries not to look at them directly and today she has, not only something to occupy her gaze, but an agenda to occupy her mind. 

The aforementioned _girl_ is facing off with a knight roughly her own size, both armed with quarterstaffs. The sharp thwack of wood on wood echoes in the stillness. Phasma grudgingly admires her skill. Bit rough around the edges yet, but promising. Not that Phasma has the time to deal with stealing a raw recruit. She has a much bigger fish to fry. “ Merely making an observation.” She returns to the previous embryonic conversation. “ And I was surprised, honestly. I didn’t realize you were in the habit of taking on apprentices.” 

“ Hux’s decision, not mine.” Kylo sounds rather agitated. 

Phasma raises a brow, unseen by the young man. “ You're handling it well, then. Hux’s meddling, that is.” She can’t believe Hux is actually facilitating Kylo’s success. 

Kylo's leather gloved hand creaks into a fist on his sword hilt. “ Woman, just tell me what you want so I can say _no_ and you can stop talking to me.” 

“ I think Hux has been gelded and I need a stallion.” 

“... Don't drag me into your disgusting, perverted-”

Phasma literally chokes on a laugh. She does her best to clear her throat quietly so as not to disturb the performance. Senses the staff’s collective gaze on her and Kylo. She waits a moment, letting their attention be drawn back to the two combatants who are saluting each other to the cheers of the audience. The girl and her sparring partner trot off the field toward them. Phasma unabashedly stares at her until she passes them and takes her place in line. Two other Knights of Ren jog to the far center of the arena to demonstrate a pair of anelace versus a falchion. At the first strike of metal, Phasma continues her verbal foray. “ I forget how innocent you can be sometimes.” Kylo stiffens beside her and Phasma notes the exaggerated level of offense with great interest. Then dives back in. “ As wonderfully catastrophic as that scenario sounds, I was actually referring to his ambitions. Not his stamina.” 

The two on the field are very skilled. While Phasma would consider the girl’s match a joyful waltz- enthusiastic and broad- these two knights are lightning fast and intimate- a deadly tango. 

Kylo shifts slightly. Phasma wonders if the flush of his cheeks is sunburn or lingering embarrassment. He loosens his grip on the hilt. Phasma continues. “ I'm talking about wanting more than this pathetic farce.” The small gesture of her fingers encompasses the entire arena. “ Of Hux’s inevitable slide into obscurity and not wanting to be dragged down with him.” Honesty. Phasma prefers it, certainly finds it useful, and knows Kylo responds to it much more favorably than manipulation, no matter how subtle. “ I'm talking about the fact that only one of your crew can fight from horseback properly and not a single one of you is capable of jousting and how many jobs you’ve had to turn down because of that defect. You've usurped Hux's throne as Snoke's new golden child and I’m ready to burn this place to the very ground.” She may have surprised him even more by being straightforward than with her misinterpreted metaphor. Kylo actually turns his head to look at her. She meets his gaze, allowing him to see just how serious she is.

The audience erupts in applause and Kylo swings his eyes back to the field. The pair of combatants salutes the audience, then exits. Phasma watches as Kylo takes a measured breath and steps away, immediately followed by the largest of his knights; Savion, she thinks his name is. 

Kylo and Savion hit their marks and raise their long swords and Phasma- in quite the dancing mood today- decides the precise sweeping movements and deliberate show of strength in their performance reminds her of a lethal pas de deux. Or, more crudely, a brilliantly violent fuck. 

She continues to observe the show, her thoughts focused on only one of the participants and how he didn’t immediately accept her proposal.

Kylo didn’t reject it, either. Very promising. 

Phasma has all summer. She’ll find a way to get into the self-righteous prick’s good graces and away from that stone about her neck, Hux.

She deserves more and she _will_ have it.

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

Luke should not be here. 

Conversely, he really _should_ be here.

But that’s neither here nor there because he _is_ here and the universe is obviously not done toying with him. 

He’s parked in the far corner of the public campground that shares land with the Takodana Ren Fest. Hoping to hide for awhile and not attract the attention of certain persons. Like his sister, Leia. Just the thought of her makes Luke anxious. And sad. It’s been fifteen years since he’s seen her face and he’s been in contact only a handful of times during his absence. Since he failed and abandoned his family. 

He’s travelled all over since leaving Takodana. Went overseas for years, hopping from one continent to the next, drowning his sorrows in extreme forms of meditation and training. Isolating himself from the world. From his family. Eventually he made his way back to North America and wandered from one odd job to the next, from coast to coast and back again. A year in Canada, scavenging a living in the wilds. Seven months walking up and down the California coastline. Three weeks in Maine, working on a lobster boat. Most of a year in Denver, his interest in medicinal herbage thoroughly indulged. It was in Denver that Luke signed on as a roadie with Jedi Exile; they had been a favorite of Old Ben’s, and Luke had tried to pass on that love to his own students. Signing up as a roadie was a better alternative to hitchhiking across America’s Heartland. And being on the road had opened him up a bit, forced him to interact with new people in more than a strictly business-like sense. He’d even grown fond of a young groupie, had taught her a few self-defense moves, though she had disappeared after St. Louis and Luke had lain awake many nights wondering what happened to her. 

And then Han had found him. 

In Nashville, after a show at the Ryman. Luke had been loading up the band’s gear in the side lot when he heard the familiar voice calling his name. There hadn’t been time to hide. The band was staying at a hotel on the edge of town and Han convinced Luke to meet him at the Waffle House next door. Over numerous pots of coffee and plates of hashbrowns, they filled in the absent years; Luke recounted his travels and glossed over his loneliness and depression; Han romanticized his transporting job and blurred the legality of his doings. Luke was saddened to discover that Han had also wandered away from home, though he returned more often than Luke. There was no judgement, of course. Luke continued to blame himself for Ben’s- no, _Kylo’s_ actions so long ago. If only he’d been a better teacher, a better uncle. If only he’d been able to snuff out his father’s ghost before it enchanted young Kylo and drew him off the honorable path. _If, if, if…_

The morning had dawned and Luke said good-bye to his oldest friend, despite Han’s pleas for Luke to visit Takodana with him. Luke smiled and gave Han his cell number and headed back to the gear truck. The band had to be at the Dagobah Swamp Fest by noon for a radio interview. When Luke looked in his rearview as he pulled out of the shared parking lot, Han was still standing at the back of his handyman’s van, staring after him. 

After Dagobah they drove to a street festival in Atlanta, then the Naboo Moon Music festival in New Orleans. From there, it was back up to Little Rock and on to Louisville for the fourth annual Yavin Farm-Aid benefit concert. It was in Louisville that the longing for home triggered by his brother-in-law’s visit overwhelmed Luke’s willpower. He decided to leave Jedi Exile and head to Takodana. Just for a day or two. To see how his sister was doing, how the faire was going. He could catch up with the band on the eastern coast in a week.

That week has come and gone and Luke is still at Takodana. And he still hasn’t spoken to his sister. Or even entered the faire grounds. 

Until today.

Luke locks his pick-up truck and trudges slowly through the short grass of the camping sites, onto the hard packed earth of the parking area. He pulls his hood down over his gray hair and ducks into the costumed crowd around the entrance. The man at the gate eyes his staff, but barely glances at his face as he hands Luke a ticket and change. Luke doesn’t recognize him. He passes through the gate, an armoured guard just inside giving him a nod of acknowledgement before Luke continues on. 

He checks the map he received with his ticket. Some things are different, but he’s happy to see that the Black Pearl is still standing in its central location, surrounded by various tents and performers. It’s a darker brown; Leia must’ve had it repainted in the last year or so. The crowd is thick right after opening and Luke simply moves with the flow which is generally a counter-clockwise route. The Artisan’s Guild- now on the right hand side of the entrance where the staff area and medical tent used to be- is full of eager buyers and curious faire-goers. Luke scans the booths, idly watching the artisans demonstrating their trade, and quickly sidesteps into a small group standing under an open pavilion where a crew of jugglers is entertaining a children’s birthday party. 

Chewie is just across the way. The man’s height is unmistakeable, even bent over his display table, discussing his wares with an elderly couple wearing flower crowns. The silver hair is the only mark of age that Luke can see at this distance. The big man is smiling, helping the customer fasten a leather-worked bracelet on his wife’s wrist. Chewie is obviously just as kind and generous as Luke remembers. 

Luke knows he needs to move away; a hooded old guy hanging around a bunch of kids is eventually going to draw suspicion. He shifts his walking staff to his other hand and moseys onward, slowly making new discoveries as he surveys his old stomping grounds.

The Human Chessmatch and stables, the stocks and rotten tomatoes, acrobats and fire-eaters, cheap trinkets and high quality pieces, colorful tents and banners and costumes and people. Much is the same. 

The Takodana Castle theater has been patched here and there, the raised bleachers are new. The torture museum stands where the dunking booth and other games used to be. The King’s Forest has expanded, the petting zoo taking up a huge chunk of the back side of the faire, and there’s a walking trail full of gauzy fairies and a corn maze with creatures from some children’s book about a boy wizard. The jousting arena, the Queen’s Lists, is the same, as is the food and games area that comprises Tuck’s Abbey in the corner by the theater gardens. He’s made his way all the way down to Shakespeare’s Glenn at the entrance, where the decorative stone pavers from the old Artisan’s Guild are still embedded in concentric patterns; the big sponsor tents and some staff areas are there now. 

Twice he has to hide in order to avoid detection. Once, when he spots his sister in the Royal Procession twisting through the throngs of tourists. She’s older, of course, but just as beautiful and fierce looking as he remembers. Luke physically aches with the need to talk to her. And again, when Chewie crosses his path while heading to Tuck’s Abbey for a pint and turkey leg for late lunch. 

Luke finds a vacant hay bale in an out of the way shady spot near the theater to sit down and eat his overpriced meal. He rests his staff against the theater’s outer wall and realizes he can hear the show going on inside. Luke isn’t quite ready to watch others doing what he once loved and gave up, so he merely listens with half an ear and drinks his pint of ale. 

He ponders his life, his choice to isolate himself, his own place in the world and where he should go now.

He can leave here. Yes. Pack up today and meet up with Jedi Exile in- he thinks they’re in North Carolina right now. Yoda, the band’s manager, would be happy to have him back driving the gear truck. Their young back-up driver, Ezra, is skilled but a bit too reckless for Yoda’s taste. Luke can finish out the summer with Jedi Exile and perhaps ship off again afterwards. He could go back to Amsterdam. He loved Amsterdam. 

Or he can stay here. Maybe. He’s certain Leia will hire him back on, there’s always high turnover and faires are always shorthanded. He’s learned a variety of trades in the years since he’s been gone and can make himself useful wherever needed. Maybe Han can even be persuaded to come back on a more permanent basis. It could be like old times, before everything fell apart. 

Luke turns up his souvenir goblet and finishes the last dregs of his beer. It’s late in the afternoon, the heat is unforgiving, and he doesn’t want to chance getting caught. Still, it’s hard to leave this after coming back to it after so many years. He sighs and shifts on his seat, reluctant to vacate his spot. Inside the theater, applause roars to life. Today’s show must be over. 

There’s a small rattling noise under the loud whoops and clapping and Luke looks up to see a dog in a wheelie cart passing by his nook. A Welsh Corgi, he thinks. The dog pauses in front of Luke’s hiding spot, nose twitching furiously. Luke glances down at his nearly bare turkey bone. Ah. He smiles and clucks his tongue, inviting the little canine to approach. The dog cocks his head to the side and scampers/wheels its way to Luke’s feet, sniffing everything around him. Luke strips off the remaining bits of meat from the bone and sets them on the ground. The dog happily pounces on the treat and proceeds to gobble it up. Luke leans down to pet the friendly creature. “ You seem pretty self-sufficient, little one, but I hope your owner isn’t too far away.” The dog’s front end squirms hard enough to shake its cart and its immobile back end. Luke chuckles.

“ Impossible!” A man’s low voice emanates from behind Luke, down a ways at the back of the theater where (in his day, at least) the performers would take a break away from the overly enthusiastic crowds and smoke a forbidden cigarette. “ She’s fucking impossible!” 

Luke freezes in position, his hand rigid on the corgi’s back. It had taken a moment, but he recognizes that voice strained by frustration and aggression. Kylo Ren. All these years and he still knows that voice, still feels a spark of joy hearing it before being swamped by regret. Of all the places in the world Luke never imagined Kylo would have returned to Takodana. And now he’s caught, nowhere to hide and unable to leave without drawing attention to himself and no telling what kind of altercation will occur if Kylo finds him here. Luke _knew_ coming here was a mistake! 

Another voice, undeniably male. Deeper, more mature. “ Calm down. She’s bound to make a few mistakes right out the gate, but-”

“ No! That wasn’t a mistake!” Kylo again, coming closer. “ That was deliberate, Savion!” 

Luke can feel the hair on the back of his neck prickling. The anger in Kylo’s tone, his words. It’s even worse than Luke remembers. He pities the subject of the younger man’s ire. 

Heavy footsteps, harsh breathing. Luke forces his muscles to relax and begins petting the dog again. Casual, he needs to look casual. Two pairs of footsteps sweep past his back, neither one pausing in their swift rhythm. The dog looks up from his meal, whimpering, and Luke would swear the poor thing is actually frightened. He scratches behind the perky ears to alleviate the stress; the dog’s and his own. 

Luke waits several minutes, wanting to be certain that Kylo and his companion are not coming back this way. The dog is done with the turkey and noses into Luke’s hand. “ I’m afraid that’s all I have at the moment. You’ll have to use those puppy eyes on some other soft-hearted old fart.” He laughs quietly, just to dispel some of the lingering tension in his frame. The little dog licks his palm and maneuvers its cart back out into the open, apparently intent on following Luke’s advice. Luke watches it trot off toward the Black Pearl and its crew of sugar-hyped children. 

He tucks the goblet into his satchel, retrieves his staff, and tosses the turkey leg into a trash bin at the corner of the neighboring tent. A light touch to his hood assures him that his face remains concealed. The sights and smells of the faire swirl together into a heated blur as Luke makes his way back to the main gate. Any harmless nostalgia still left in him is crushed by a growing sense of dread.

Luke has to leave this place. Now. 

He weaves his way through the crowd, careful to keep his head down and his staff close to his body. The suit of armour at the guardhouse notes his departure with a tilt of his helmet. Luke nods his head and hurries past, through the parking lot and into the campground. 

If he leaves now he can cross the state line by midnight. He might not even meet back up with the band. He might just keep driving and see where it takes him. 

“ Luke! Luke, hey wait!” 

Luke has his fingers curled around the door handle before he hears his name being called out. He’s tempted to ignore Han, get in his truck and get the hell out of here. Knowing Kylo is out and about has Luke seriously shaken up. 

“ Wait, please!” 

Luke glances at his reflection in the truck window. When did he get so old and worn? He opens the truck door and tosses his mage’s robe onto the front seat. Then he turns around to face Han who is huffing and puffing in a long black reaper’s robe right behind him. “ I’m sorry, Han. I shouldn’t have come here.” 

The older man leans heavily against the truck’s camper top, catching his breath. “ No, no… I’m just so.. So glad that you did.” Han wipes the sweat from his face with the edge of a long sleeve. His blue eyes are bright in the weathered face, skin red from the heat. “ I haven’t told Leia. Mainly because she doesn’t really want to see me at the moment.” 

Luke gives a rueful smile. “ She probably wants to see me just as much.” He leaves the truck door open to give the cab a chance to air out, and moves to stand beside Han, leaning back against the side of the truck. “ I didn’t know Kylo was here this summer.” Not an accusation, not quite. 

“ Sorry, I should’ve told you.” Han turns to press his back against the truck, as well. He pulls his gloves off and tucks them into his robes. “ I got so excited seeing you I didn’t even think about Kylo being here. From what I gathered, Leia was just as shocked. I don’t think that Hux guy who runs the place now is very forthcoming, if you know what I mean. ” 

There’s a brief silence, not awkward, but thoughtful. Luke stares out over the shiny RVs and brightly colored tents. The banners on Takodana castle flutter weakly in the hot breeze. “ I think it would be better for everyone if I left.” 

“ I need your help, Luke.” Han talks over him. Luke grinds his back teeth, anxious. It must be bad if Han is actually asking for assistance. He barely nods his head and Han takes it as a signal of having his attention. “ I had nothing planned when I ran into you in Nashville, I swear. I was just happy to see you.” Han ducks his head, staring at the trampled grass at his feet. “ I was coming back this summer, regardless, and then I found out the Knights of Ren were scheduled to headline and then I ran into you and-” Han raises his hands in a gesture of frustration, then lets them fall back to his sides. He turns his gaze back to Luke. “ I don’t know what I was thinking you could do or even what I could do to fix this mess but, it just seemed… It just seemed like maybe it was time for everyone to come home.” 

Luke reaches up and squeezes the older man’s shoulder. Han looked like this the night Luke left fifteen years ago; desperate, helpless. Hopeless. Luke leaves his hand in place, remembering all the times Han has done the same for him when he needed to be comforted. “ I’ll stay. I don’t know what I can do about anything, but I’ll stay.” He doesn’t know what else he can say. Maybe Han’s right. Maybe it is time they all come home. 

“ Thanks, kid.” Han swallows Luke in a bear hug that would make Chewie proud. 

Luke can’t help a brief smile. It’s just like old times. “ Don’t thank me yet.” 

This could all blow up in their faces. It could be a tragic repeat of fifteen years ago. Or something even worse. 

But Luke’s going to stay. 

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

BB8 loves Poe. 

Poe feeds BB8. Poe rubs BB8’s bottom. Poe plays with BB8. 

BB8 is following Poe. Poe is walking in the Play-Place with the other Poes. With Finn-Poe and Rey-Poe. Finn-Poe is shiny and happy. Rey-Poe is fluffy and happy. They give BB8 lots of food and BB8 loves them. 

BB8 smells the Bad Poes coming. Phasma-Poe and Kylo-Poe. BB8 growls. Phasma-Poe ignores BB8. Kylo-Poe growls back. BB8 does not like them. BB8 will tinkle on Kylo-Poe’s boots later. 

The Play-Place is full of Poes now. Some Poes smell good. Some Poes smell bad. BB8 likes Little Poes the best. Little Poes bark loud and play with BB8. BB8 runs to the Ship-Place to play with Little Poes. 

Playplayplayplayplayplaytinkleplayplayplay.

BB8 is thirsty. Poe finds BB8 and gives him water and crunchies. Finn-Poe pets BB8. Poe and Finn-Poe walk together and bark in each other’s ears.

BB8 walks around the Play-Place and looks for other Poes. The Scary-Place is cool and shady. BB8 likes the shade. Hux-Poe lives behind the Scary-Place. Hux-Poe is sitting outside. Hux-Poe will ignore BB8. BB8 walks by Hux-Poe and Hux-Poe pets BB8. BB8 is confused. Hux-Poe pets BB8 until Hux-Poe leaves. 

BB8 wants to find other Poes. 

BB8 walks to the Fluffy-Place. Fluffy-Poes are fluffy and colorful and very nice to BB8. Fluffy-Poes feed BB8 crunchies and cookies. Leia-Poe gives BB8 water and petting. Han-Poe is in the Fluffy-Place barking at Leia-Poe and eating BB8’s cookies. 

BB8 walks to the Barking-Place. Fluffy-Poes and Shiny-Poes bark at each other and other Poes hit their paws together to make a loud noise. BB8 finds an Old-Poe who gives BB8 Turkey-Food. Then Kylo-Poe is barking loud Savion-Poe is barking quiet and Old-Poe is scared and BB8 is scared. Of Kylo-Poe. BB8 likes Savion-Poe. Savion-Poe plays Ball-Toy with BB8 when Kylo-Poe isn’t looking. Old-Poe has no more Turkey-Food. BB8 is thirsty.

BB8 walks to the Ship-Place again and drinks from the Stream-Bowl. Playplayplayplaypoopieplay.

BB8 walks to the Horse-Place. BB8 likes Horses. Horses smell good and have soft beds. 

Playplayplayplaytinkleplayplaysleep…

Poe carries BB8 through the Play-Place. Finn-Poe has water and Turkey-Food. Rey-Poe has a Shady-Stick. There are no more Poes in the Play-Place. Poe carries BB8 to the Small-Home to play with Finn-Poe and Rey-Poe until Sleep-Time at the Big-Home. 

Finn-Poe and Rey-Poe are on the grass. Poe is on the grass. BB8 snuggles with Poe and listens to the Poes barking.

Snugglesnugglesnugglefartsnugglesleep…

 

_tbc_


	6. It's a Nice Day for a White Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang has survived 5 weeks of summer shenanigans and everyone is now looking forward to relaxing, drinking, dancing, drinking, hooking-up, and drinking at a time honored festival mainstay- The Theme Wedding!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Thank you, thank you, thank you and danke to everyone who enjoys reading this as much as we enjoy driving ourselves crazy over plot bunnies! Your support and encouragement literally put smiles on our faces on a daily basis :D  
> 2) BB8's Day was me goofing off while trying to figure out Luke's intro, and I had no idea it would be so well received, lol. So thank you, and there will be more BB8 adventures soon :)  
> 3) Wednesday will be our new regular posting day. Still weekly, but mid-weekly. Think of it as a hump-day treat :D
> 
> And lastly, a toast to frack, late night emails with random plot questions, and annoying coworkers. Cheers!

**Chapter 6: It’s a Nice Day for a White Wedding**

Leia has always felt the faire performers and workers are like her own big extended family. Sure, Uncle Plutt is creepy and handsy. Oscar and the rest of the mud show guys are fucking whacko and she is worried that one day she's going to have to grease up the local sheriff's deputies to get them out of trouble. She will always be de facto den mother to her Court Ladies, letting them cry their troubles on her shoulder or mediating their fights or accompanying the more naive, virginal types off to Planned Parenthood so they're well-prepared for a typical renfaire summer.

Hux is like the pretentious, asshole cousin always spouting political inappropriateness at family dinners. Phasma is the D1 athlete who always looks vaguely bored by all the boneheaded, underachieving nonsense going on around her. She's probably going to kill someone someday. Possibly Hux.

For better or worse, they're her people, and comfortably familiar.

Now, as for Leia's own blood relations...that can be another story altogether.

Han - not a blood relation, but complicated enough where relations are concerned - she's used to him cropping up every third year or so, and she has a procedure for dealing with him that seems to work so far. They're longtime friends who sometimes fall into bed together and have an unspoken agreement Never To Speak about Certain Things.

Like Kylo. It sometimes surprises her how easy it is to think of him with that name. _Ben_. That name just reminds her of a quiet boy with skinned knees who would fall asleep with his hand knotted in her shirt while she read him to sleep at night.

His arrival this summer was a surprise. The Knights of Ren have a much higher price tag than she can safely pay on top of the faire's other expenses, but it's a forgone conclusion that Hux has negotiated something in order to get them. Sometimes the back of Leia's neck prickles as she's walking around the faire, and invariably when she turns to look there's a shadow of black cloak just on the edge of her vision. Just like he's always a shadow in her thoughts. A bone-deep bruise that fades in color but still hurts like a bitch when you press on it. She would talk to him if he'd let her, but any attempt will only make him angry, so she doesn't try. Ben either has to come on his own, or stay on the edges of whatever perimeter allows him to feel the distance he needs. She's not going to push. Luke was one who thought they could push or pull the kid, and look where that got them.

Which brings her to Luke. The idealist to her pragmatist, the one who thought if he just gave enough of his own passion that the flame would catch in others. What a crock of shit _that_ was. She can't blame him for being who he is, but she's not up for listening to him explain this or that or try to feng shui her shit or whatever he's into. He's her brother, and she loves him, but it's hard to forget that when things got tough, he was just another in a long line of Walkers who left. She's the one who's still here sifting through the broken pieces, hoping to find ones that still fit into the pattern her life has now.

She reaches for the bottle sitting next to her on the porch railing. When she tips it to top off her glass of orange juice, vodka splashes on her hand and she sighs. Maybe she needs to quit drinking so much. Or quit drinking before noon. Or both.

Today, however, is a Special Occasion. There are usually one or two weddings every season at the faire, but this one is different, because it's a union of two longtime faire workers. Sabine has been performing as an acrobat since high school, and Hera is a vendor who makes very spartan-looking jewelry. Today they're getting married in a full-on, fantasy blowout of literal Epic Proportions, and Leia's house is full of girls getting ready for the wedding.

Screams issue from inside and someone is suddenly shoved out the screen door. Leia turns to see Hera, her silver-blue hair full of some kind of product, glaring back at someone inside. "That thing about bad luck seeing the bride before the wedding is a stupid superstition! And who says she's the only bride? I'm a bride too! This is heteronormative bullshit!"

"Hey, sit down and have a drink. Then just use the downstairs bathroom to rinse your hair." Leia pours for the irate woman stomping across the porch.

"I don't see why you straights were all so gung-ho for keeping marriage to yourselves. This fucking sucks so far. You can have it!" Hera yells the last few words up towards the open bedroom windows.

Leia judiciously adds more vodka. "It will all be just fine, I promise."

Hera takes a gulp and then eyes her. "This from someone who never actually got married?"

"Long story. Ask me about it when we have more time." Leia trusts that in a few hours Hera will be too drunk to remember that and she won't have to actually tell the story. She would have married Han, and she knows he wanted it once. But they were just never in that place at quite the same time.

She leaves Hera the bottle as she goes back into the house to work on her own hair - maybe she'll try her old favorite cinnamon-bun 'do today, really blow Han's mind. It's heavy and gives her a headache, but the look on his face would be totally worth it.

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

“ We’re getting old.” Han sips his beer.

“ Speakferyerself.” Chewie drains half his pint in one go.

Luke just sighs and tips up his own glass. 

The Castle Tavern is still busy, even after the small lunch rush petered out to the three men sitting at the bar and one of the brides talking on her phone at a corner table. Han is not purposefully eavesdropping on Sabine’s conversation but the woman’s voice carries in the small space. Apparently her parents are lost on a highway somewhere right outside the county airport and Sabine is trying to talk them through setting up their GPS. Han tries to imagine his life if his own parents had lived to see him (almost) married with a kid. Probably be a bit different. Maybe he’d have even been a better father… 

The kitchen staff- and a few volunteers- are in full swing, prepping for the wedding under Maz’s keen supervision. The cook is out back grilling his seventh bag of tofu, his fifth bag of chicken, and his tenth pineapple. Savory smoke blends gently with the scent of baking bread and the heavy fragrance of buttercream icing. 

The three men had been hanging around the bar after lunch, nursing their preferred drinks, when Maz conscripted them into service. They’d each been given a vegetable and a fancy kitchen gadget to shred, grate, dice, slice their appointed veggie into fancy piles of fanciness. Han is certain no one really cares what shape the carrots are as long as they’re orange and not boiled into oblivion. 

Their current drinks are reward for their hard- and in Han’s case, inaccurate- work. 

“ You’re not old. You’re just bored.” Maz chuckles knowingly as she approaches the other side of the bar and pulls up a stool. She sets a pitcher of ice cold barley tea on the bar and pours herself a cup. 

“ I wouldn’t call being chased around the world by dubious characters _boring_.” Han protests mildly, flicking a stray spiral of carrot toward Luke. The younger man glances up when it hits the sleeve of his faded Jedi-Exile t-shirt- a smaller version of the 1983 tour shirt Chewie is wearing- giving Han the barest smile before going back to staring into his glass. Han is truly worried about Luke. 

Maz flaps her hand dismissively. “ Bah! That’s how you’ve spent your whole life. That’s why you’re bored, now. You should try something new, try a different path.” She picks up her cup of tea and gazes steadily at Luke over the rim. “ And you, you’re in an even worse funk and it’s going to take more than my nagging to drag you out of it.” 

Luke offers up the beginning of a sincere smile that just reaches his tired eyes. “ I didn’t think there was anything in the universe your nagging couldn’t cure, Maz.” 

“ Oh, ho! Maybe you’re not as far gone as I thought.” Maz grins and quietly sips her tea.” Or maybe someone else has already influenced your path? Given you a swift kick in the rear, perhaps?”

Han watches Luke hesitate and turn back to his empty glass. Han looks down into his own glass and swirls the dark brown liquid inside. He’s not vain enough to think Maz is talking about him. Stumbling across his honorary brother-in-law while smuggling ancient artifacts out of Mexico (which should be in a museum, but he needs to make money somehow) and crying into his beer about being homesick doesn’t qualify as path influencing, in Han’s opinion. If anything, Luke looks worse now than he did when they met in Nashville. Han almost wishes he hadn’t begged the man to stay. Almost. 

Because Maz is right and Han had been honest when he asked Luke to help him. It’s long past time for everyone to make their way home. Han had begun this venture with only himself in mind. He’s tired of shady dealings and near misses. It still gets his adrenaline going, no doubt, but the comedown afterward is quick and harsh and lingers until he finds his next job and is back on the road. Han had called Chewie in for some back-up and working with his dearest friend again had made him realize just how much he missed his family. And then Chewie, possibly sensing Han’s change of heart, offered him a partnership in his business. And then Han had heard about Ben- _Kylo_ , he’s Kylo, now- returning to Takodana for the summer, and then he ran into Luke and… He’s never been one to subscribe to Luke’s all powerful, destiny controlling nonsense, but, damn, that’s one too many coincidences for even Han to ignore. He may be a skeptic, but he’s not stupid. 

And he’s committed to this. One hundred percent. No matter how things turn out with Luke and Kylo, Han is determined to stay. As long as Leia will have him around the place. So far their conversations have been less than encouraging, though Leia has not outright rejected him either. Though items have been thrown in his direction when he pushed her a bit too far too soon. If Leia does finally decide to tell him to go to hell, then Han will simply have to bunk with Chewie a bit longer as he tries harder to break down her stubborn streak. 

He’s hell bent on making this his home again, but along the way he’s realized that he wants to make this Luke’s home, too. Wants the other man to forgive himself and feel as though he belongs here again. 

Like a family. Like they used to be. 

As for Kylo...

Chewie gently elbows him and Han shakes off the reverie. “ What? ‘Nother drink?”

“ Breaktimesover.” Chewie pushes his glass forward and picks up a cucumber and what Han has labeled a vegetable guillotine. “ Gottafinishforefahv.”

Maz pats Han’s hand. And places a huge red cabbage in it. “ Listen to Chewie. He has his shit together.” She winks at Han and tweaks Luke’s nose before hopping off her stool. “ Luke, you’ll help me with plating until it’s time to load the van.” 

“ Yes, ma’am.” Luke nods and slides down from his own seat, wiping his mouth and unruly beard with a napkin. Han could never pull off a beard; anything more than scruff just looks ridiculous on him.

Han watches as Luke shuffles behind the bar and follows Maz into the kitchen area. His back is straight, his steps even and light. Only the dip of his chin, the twitch of his hands at his sides, advertises that his thoughts are elsewhere. 

Han hopes Luke isn’t thinking about running. Because, honestly, it’s crossed Han’s mind a time or two, as well. 

There’s a large kitchen knife in front of him and Han picks it up, slicing through the middle of the head of red cabbage. Maybe by the time he’s done mincing half a dozen heads for slaw, inspiration will have struck on how to get back into Leia’s good graces and how to get Luke to not look like a mutt abandoned on the side of the road. He’s too old to still be figuring out this life shit. “ I think I already miss being chased by dubious characters.” 

Chewie laughs over his pile of paper thin cucumber slices. 

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

Rey would be lying if she said she wasn't a little bit pleased to see both Finn's and Poe's mouths drop open as she steps out of the Falcon.

"When did you get new garb? Is that a costume? It's gorgeous! _You're_ gorgeous!" When they get their speech back they both start babbling at the same time.

She preens a little under their attention. "It's not a costume, necessarily. I just wanted a new dress for the wedding."

Poe picks up a buttery soft fold of skirt and pets it. "A dress like this goes for at least four hundred bucks at Camelot Couture," he comments, invoking the name of one of the priciest vendors at the faire. "And this looks like a custom job. I know you got costume allowance when you started working with the Knights of Ren, but -"

Rey laughs. "That was only because Hux suggested this thing that was basically a metal bikini. Kylo nixed that idea, if you can believe it. The costume allowance was his idea."

Poe and Finn exchange glances of wordless skepticism and Rey _knows_ what they're thinking, the jerks. "For your information, he doesn't look at me that way."

"For your information, looking at you like he wants to angrily eat you for breakfast is _totally_ that way." Finn informs her.

Poe nods his agreement. "If he didn't want you in a metal bikini it's only because he doesn't want to be fighting a boner for his entire show."

She makes a face at them. "Ugh, don't be such dudebros. He's an ass, but he's actually pretty respectful." She ignores whatever faces they're making as she turns her back on them. "Finn, make sure my braid is okay and let’s go or we'll be late."

Finn quietly obeys as Poe comes around front to check her out again. "So how'd you get the new dress, then? It doesn't look like your Knights costume."

The revamped Knights of Ren show now casts her as a Robin Hood-esque woodland bandit, which she immensely prefers to being a helpless kidnapped princess. Appropriately, her show costume is brown leather and buckles and features pants and a sleeveless, hooded jerkin, all cut for ease of movement.

She holds out her arms. They are bare, but here the resemblance to her Knights costume ends. "It's actually two dresses - Gemma found them in with the Court Ladies' castoffs, and she said if I helped her we could cut them apart and repurpose them into a dress for me. This is the result." The underskirt is a filmy, translucent material with a silver sheen, and the overdress is a rich gray velvet with delicate silver leaves embroidered throughout. The bodice laces tightly in front and terminates in a high collar behind Rey's head. She feels more like a princess than she ever did in that awful Princess Jehanne costume.

She feels Finn arranging some of the strands of her braid. "I think you look beautiful," he says over her shoulder. "And it makes me glad we asked Gemma what you were wearing for the wedding."

Rey can hear the smile in his tone, and Poe is grinning at both of them. "Yeah. She said it was a secret, but she gave us an idea of the color so we could get you this." He produces a small, ribbon-tied parcel from behind his back and holds it out to her. "For you, darling, from your courtiers."

Rey takes the parcel gently. The silky ribbons catch on the roughness of her callused fingers as she tugs them apart. "You guys! You didn't have to!"

The wrappings fall away to reveal an intricate domino mask like the ones sold by Michelangelo the Master, a faire vendor whose talent at mask-making is probably only surpassed by his creepiness. She had actually checked his shop for something to go with her dress but had been quickly chased away by prices that started at $100 for the simplest design.

The lines of her mask are crafted to look like vines and brambles, scattered with thorns and some tipped with berries crafted from glittering, iridescent crystals. The brow swoops up and back, curving like the horns of a playfully wicked spirit.

Finn brings a mirror out of the camper and holds it while Poe ties the mask carefully behind Rey's braid. Her eyes prickle as they beam at her like she's a cherished little sister.

Maybe, for them, she sort of is.

"It's so beautiful. I don't know what to say, except thank you." She gives each of them a kiss and a hug, and then takes a moment to re-do her eyeliner as they congratulate themselves on their choice of gift. 

They walk arm-in-arm to the wedding venue, Rey's skirts swishing between her two handsome escorts. It's easy to hear the festivities long before they can see them. People are milling across a village common lined with benches, passing flasks back and forth and laughing. An older woman in fairy wings is passing out sachets of flower petals so that everyone can shower the brides afterward. Off to one side a band is tuning up, and some of the wedding party are already assembled under a canopy hung with flowers and streamers.

Even the Knights of Ren are all there, of course in black, wearing slightly more ornate versions of their performance masks. Only one is helmeted, and she’s pretty sure that’s Kylo, because he would. The shortest one - Gianni, obviously - gives her an enthusiastic thumbs-up and she waves at him. Kylo stands a little bit apart from the human interaction swirling around him with an almost tangible detachment.

“He just sucks the joy out of everything, doesn’t he?” Finn says in her ear. Rey shrugs, not sure how to answer, because since she’s been around Kylo more, it’s harder to feel that way about him.

Strains of the wedding processional fill the air. “Hey, they’re starting! We need to get seats!”

Poe has known Hera since they went to highschool together, so Rey and Finn crowd in next to him on what is roughly Hera’s side of the audience. She walks down the aisle escorted by her brother. Sabine follows flanked by both of her parents. The brides are lovely in complementary gowns - Hera's a white peplos attached to an impressive bronze collar from her own jewelry line, and Sabine's a more traditional lace with bare shoulders.

They array themselves before the giant, red-bearded officiant in his kilt and he launches into a ceremony that sounds like it's been cribbed off deleted scenes from the screenplay of _Highlander_. Hera and Sabine recite their homemade vows in trembling voices, and there is some obscure ceremony involving cutting a lock from each others' hair, dropping it into a winecup and throwing the contents into a fire. Then the officiant winds a length of cord around their hands and pronounces them married by the bonds of law and the choices of the heart, and the entire place goes bonkers, cheering and whistling as the happy couple kiss each others faces off.

It’s time for the party to commence.

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

Hux does not particularly like weddings. But the occasional appearance of benevolence works wonders on employee morale so he is here, standing behind the last row of benches set up in the village common, in his usual second favorite Armani suit, gazing out over the colorfully masked crowd. 

Bored out of his mind. 

He’s seen many weddings at the faire over the years, looks forward to the event fees charged to use the grounds and structures. The extra fees for costuming and food. The overage fees for ceremonies that run long. Above average guest attendance and spending. Faire weddings are quite lucrative. Alas, an employee wedding held during their off hours is not quite as exciting, financially speaking, but free alcohol and the proceeding acts of drunken bravado are nearly as satisfying. There’s always one complete loser that makes a spectacular ass out of him-or-herself. Entertaining, to say the least. 

The ambient music fades out and the musicians - some banal medieval-themed cover band with a bagpiper- strikes up Canon in D Major and an overplayed hush descends upon the crowd. Hux rolls his eyes at the predictability and glances at the pair of brides entering the area. One is escorted by her parents, the other is walking arm-in-arm with a bearded lumberjack that can only be her younger brother. The bridal party slowly walks along the rush strewn path up the wide middle aisle. Prettily fae creatures, though not Hux’s cup of tea. 

“ Enjoying this spectacle of outdated patriarchal practices?” 

Hux keeps the smile off his face through sheer force of will as Phasma’s whisper tickles his ear. It's habit now, but he vaguely wonders when it became so; which is a lie and Hux instantly crushes that mental threat. She steps up beside him and he can see her in the violet-hued light of sunset, resplendent in black velvet and silver trim; her bared arms, pale and muscular, crossed over her chest in barely contained contempt for the ceremonies. Like him, she’s forgone the intricate festival mask everyone else has enthusiastically embraced, exposing her flawlessly carved expression of disdain. Phasma’s entire aura screams erotic belligerence and Hux is decidedly hot under the collar. He shrugs lightly inside his suit, making a small noncommittal sound to cover his inappropriate pleasure at her presence.

The official begins his speech, a droning Gaelic bass that Hux can already tell is going to put half the guests to sleep before the exchanging of vows. The man’s kilt is perfection, however.

Phasma taps her short, perfectly manicured nails against her bicep. “ Why would anyone want to get married where they work?” Her voice is clear, but low, unable to be heard by anyone seated on the other side of the massive arrangements of wheat sheaths and daisies. “ I’d want to be as far away from this squalor as I could get.”

It’s on the tip of Hux’s tongue to ask where Phasma _would_ like to get married, when he bites it back. Why the hell does he want to know? Hux knows exactly why he wants to know and he grinds that entire line of thought into dust before opening his mouth. “ Swine tend to enjoy their styes.” 

Phasma makes a noise of agreement. They stand in comfortable brooding silence as the brides recite their own vows, as the guests sniffle and _awww_ , as the official calls for the kiss and everyone erupts into thunderous applause as two women press their mouths together. Hux checks his Cartier wristwatch. Shorter than most traditional ceremonies, good. The brides exit the way they came in a flurry of petals, the bridal party and the well-wishers stampede after them, all eager to imbibe and partake of the complementary offerings. 

Hux and Phasma wait until the seats empty and then stroll side by side toward the neighboring gardens where the bar has been set up between the overflowing banks of rosebushes. Miraculously, only three people are there already; the other guests apparently more hungry than thirsty. The three at the bar belong to the Knights of Ren set. Christopher and his wife, Rosamund, are taking their oversized pints of mead in hand and making their way to the reception tables set up in the large area behind the bridal canopy. 

Kylo takes their place and gives his order to the young woman who normally tends bar at The Castle Tavern. “ Scotch, neat.” His voice sounds metallic, grating through his helmet. 

Hux watches the younger man drop a five dollar bill into the tip jar when the bartender turns her back to get the scotch. The dreaded Kylo Ren, a generous tipper. Hux raises a brow at the uncharacteristic show of altruism and turns his attention to the other bartender gathering Phasma’s order. “ I’ll have the same.” He has no idea what Phasma ordered, but trusts her taste. He drops a one dollar bill into the tip jar while the bartender is looking. The older man gives his obligatory gratitude and goes about pouring their drinks. 

Kylo nods his thanks and accepts his small tumbler of scotch. Hux is watching his bartender mix two Old Fashioneds and is surprised when, instead of heading toward the table filled with his crew, Kylo’s helmet tilts in Hux’s direction, then turns to Phasma. “ Come by my trailer tomorrow afternoon at three.” 

“...Three,” Phasma pauses, obviously surprised by Kylo’s sudden command, but confirms with a satisfied nod. 

Kylo tips his chin in reply and leaves them at the bar. 

Hux frowns, the tiniest downward curve of his lips. Obviously this is not what it sounds like; some illicit rendezvous. Phasma enjoys Kylo’s company about as much as Hux does and, despite Kylo’s dark and slightly effeminate nature, Hux never thought of him as someone to seek out such carnal depravities that Phasma _excels_ at. Not that it matters, because Hux isn’t concerned. Most certainly not concerned, of course. No. But the question is out of his mouth before he can click his teeth shut. “ Business with Kylo?” Some tiny part of him is begging for her to say something about horses or practice times or some obscure Persian sword technique or something equally mundane and professional. 

“ A contract. I hope.” Phasma picks up her drink and takes a small sip. 

She’s turning on heel before Hux even has his glass in hand. Before he can put her reply into a context that won’t shake his very core. He steps quickly to regain her side, consciously measuring his breath, forcing a calm. “ A contract with whom?” He is not panicking. _Not_ panicking. 

Phasma walks slowly along the path, meandering between the red and white roses mixed on each side. Hux is painfully aware that she won’t look at him. She stops in front of a concrete obelisk surrounded by ivy and rosemary, studying the shadows made by lantern light and lunar moths. “ With Snoke. I intend to join the Knights of Ren when they leave next month.” She picks the cherry out of her drink and carelessly tosses it into the hedgerow. 

Hux is… stunned. Shocked and furious. Betrayed. He follows the flight of the unfortunate garnish with his eyes. “ And if Snoke doesn’t sign you?” There is no need for desperate measures. No need for pathetic overtures if she simply answers-

“ I’m leaving.” Phasma is finally looking at him, pale blue eyes cast down to meet his. “ Regardless.” Cold sincerity. 

Hux’s thoughts are smashing against the inside of his skull, making coherency nearly impossible. He wants to ask why. To demand an explanation. Ask what he’s done wrong. But that would be unseemly and the utter fucking mess in his head is not conducive to any rational argument on his behalf. He sets his lips in a thin line and averts his gaze. “ I see.” Hux slams his drink in one go and turns back the way they came, toward the bar. “ Excuse me.” 

The absence of her footsteps behind him is particularly damning. 

 

_tbc_


	7. Eat, Drink, and Be Merry For Tomorrow Shit Hits the Fan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again, everybody who's come this far down the rabbit hole with us, and welcome, new readers!
> 
> We appreciate your taking the time to read and comment or even just hit the kudos button, and we love it when you tell us what you think! 
> 
> We're trying to get everybody in on the action in this chapter, although, those of you who are lil' BB8 fans will have to wait until next week!

Han is not ashamed to admit that he teared up a bit during the ceremony. 

The eye holes of his leather hawk mask- handcrafted by his best friend- are large enough for him to discreetly remove the trickles from his wet lashes. Watching the little symbolic gestures exchanged throughout the ceremony, he’d like to think that his own imagined wedding with Leia could’ve been this sweet and simple. Maybe more towards the fall season when it’s not so ridiculously hot. Even with his shirt neck open down to his chest and a good breeze blowing through the village common, he’s sweating like a whore in church. Something of an apt description, really. 

Once the formalities conclude, Han ambles along the buffet table with a hundred other guests. He keeps his long, loose shirt-sleeves rolled up just above his elbow, careful to keep the all too identifiable tattoo higher up near his shoulder covered as he carefully piles tiny sandwiches and rainbow salads onto his miniature plate. With the sun a mere orange glow on the horizon, it’s quite a bit cooler. Thank Christ. A chunk of glazed pineapple tumbles off his plate and leaves a sticky trail down the front of his tunic before landing with a plop on his boot. Han curses quietly under his breath, kicking the fruit under the table. Chewie lent him the faded black sleeveless tunic and gold embroidered belt along with the mask. Han had only accepted because even he isn’t a big enough jerk to show up at a wedding dressed as Death. And he’s trying very hard to keep them clean, dammit. 

Most of the attendees are dressed in modernized versions of renfaire garb. Comfortable elegance takes priority over historical accuracy, with sandals and synthetic fabrics, strappy dresses and short sleeve shirts. Lots of thin cotton and wispy gauze. And a veritable menagerie of incredibly fancy masks. In line behind Han, Chewie wears his favorite Highland kilt with a white ribbed tank and an ancient pair of Birkenstocks; a leather bear mask from his collection knotted at the back of his long braid. Han is completely jealous of Chewie’s inability to look goofy regardless of costume. 

The bar is on the other side of the village common and Chewie is already grabbing two water bottles from the ice barrel at the end of the buffet table. Han figures he can take the edge off after they serve the cake. 

He and Chewie slowly wind their way back through the crowd until they find a cluster of empty benches near the gardens. That Hux kid is sitting within earshot, but looks so sullen and self-absorbed that Han finds it easy to ignore him. And being this close to the bar means Han can grab a couple of beers between speeches. 

And the speeches begin almost immediately. Before they even cut the freaking cake. 

Hera’s brother stands, clears his throat, and delivers an emotional ode to his little sister and her beloved. 

Sabine’s parents raise their glasses and choke up while talking about how blessed they feel knowing their only child has the love she deserves. 

Han plows through his food and manages two beer runs as one sentimental sap after another gets up and praises the joyful couple. He passes by Hux both to and from the bar and not that Han expects-or even wants- to be recognized, he’s also a bit confused by the young man’s complete lack of acknowledgement of everyone passing by his hidey-hole. Hux doesn’t even respond to the rare greeting tossed in his direction. Well, it’s none of Han’s business. He gets back to his bench just as the wait staff is coming around with plastic flutes of champagne. A bubble of cheering bursts near the table of honor. Han swallows a cucumber sandwich whole and stops with the beer bottle on his lips. 

Leia is rising under great duress from her tablemates, a doe mask with softly pointed ears pushed up to clear her face. A tidal wave of dramatic shushes whips through the crowd and all activity ceases as the de facto leader of Takodana turns her radiant smile on the guests and addresses the newly married couple. “ Everyone here knows I’m awful at this, so this time I memorized something beforehand.” There’s a ripple of laughter and Han watches a blush rise on Leia’s cheeks. She’s wearing a simple forest green dress, sleeveless, belted at the waist with a wide strip of a lighter gauzy green. Her wavy auburn hair is loose around her shoulders, a few small braids keeping it off her face and by the gods, she is beautiful; a sylvan Greek goddess. The audience quiets again and Leia holds her glass high. “ Love, life, and happiness; may your troubles be few and your blessings plenty.” 

A roar of “ Here! Here!” and “ Huzzah!” explodes as Leia sits down, out of Han’s line of sight. He joins in the applause until it dissipates under the band’s musical cue for Sabine and Hera to give their own speech, thanking everyone for their support, etc, etc… 

Han is done with his beer by the time the cake is being cut and plated and distributed to the guests. He catches a few more glances of Leia through the masks and flowers. Chewie winks at the young woman with a blue dragon tattoo curled around her left arm who brings him a double slice and Han knows she’s one of the big man’s friends-with-benefits, but for the life of him he can’t remember if her name is Samantha or Izzy. And he’s not going to risk a guess, so he just smiles when she hands him his own slice. Han balances the paper plate on his thigh and fumbles for the glass of champagne he saved under the bench. When he looks back up, there’s another person sitting on the opposite bench. 

Han hides a startle behind a light cough before speaking. “ Luke, I was wondering if you were going to show up.” He’d mentioned the event to Luke a couple days prior, while they were, uhm, _self-medicating_ in Luke’s tent. Between hashing out a plan of reintroducing Luke into the faire life and having their minds blown by deep existential realizations, Han had invited Luke to attend the festivities for the free food, if nothing else. Even after he helped out in the kitchen, Luke had not confirmed his plans for the evening, though Han had proactively reminded him more than once about when the ceremony would begin. 

“ I watched the ceremony from the theater. Just felt too… awkward, to sit with the others.” Luke looks down at the long sleeves of his gray robe joined together in his lap, hiding his hands. He’s wearing the same white and gray flowing robes Han has seen him in whenever he’s inside the faire. And for today, a full mask with a long pointed chin and high forehead, a slit under his nose for breathing and two narrow eye holes punched into the textured leather. Only his blue-grey eyes can be seen.

It’s decidedly creepy in Han’s opinion. But more importantly, it looks hot and uncomfortable. Han pushes his cake and champagne toward Luke. “ Have something to eat, no one can see you over here.” He sees the first sign of refusal and digs in his heels. “ Take it or I’ll shove it up your nose hole.” 

The mask laughs, a real laugh, and work roughened hands emerge from the sleeves to accept the gifts. “ Thanks. I haven’t had cake in years.” 

That might possibly be the saddest thing Han has heard in his life. “ This one’s pretty good. It’s one of Izzy’s creations.” That’s the blue dragon’s name! He just remembered it. “ Yellow and strawberry.”

“ Herspeshultee.” Chewie comments between bites. He swings the plate toward Han, offering. Han grabs the fork and cuts off the end of the second slice, more than happy to share. 

They eat quietly for a while, letting the buzz of conversation and pre-recorded harp song soothe their anxious souls. Well, Han’s anxious. And he’s pretty sure Luke is, too. Chewie is solid as a damn rock, like always. Han slowly chews his last bite, wanting to savor the overly sweet confection. Luke drinks about half the champagne and hands the glass back to Han, pulling a water bottle from the pocket in his voluminous robes. It’s good champagne, Han nods his head in approval as he washes down the last bite of his cake with the bubbly drink. 

The band is back from break and people are beginning to head to the space where the ceremony was held. Staff have placed the rows of benches along the sides, under the lanterns strung between the tall citronella torches. The space is now cleared for the dancing to commence. 

It’s a pretty sight. Han leans back and watches the guests twirl and bow, swing and hop. Chewie brings them all a shot of whiskey and they bask in the warm twilight already flickering with lightning bugs. 

Han recognizes quite a few people waltzing about, even with their costumes and masks. The Falcon’s current tenants, Kylo’s feisty new partner and that poor kid who stands guard at the gate, swing by a couple of times. Both look like they’re having the time of their lives, judging by the grins on their faces. They pass the older men’s seats on the way to the bar in the company of Kes Dameron’s kid and if Han hadn’t felt old before he certainly does now; young Poe had just gotten his braces off and was shipping out to Lackland AFB for basic training last time Han had seen the boy. Old Man Potts is cutting a mean rug with Artie; Han remembers when their first great-grandchild was born, a few years after Leia had Kylo. 

Luke shifts on the bench, hood up, masked head down. Han knows he’s still watching the parade of life, understands his reluctance to intrude. Time to put his plan into action. “ Stay here.” He taps Luke on the shoulder. “ Seriously, don’t move.” 

“ Alright.” Blue eyes wide, leather mask tilting to the side. “ I’ll keep myself out of trouble.”

Han smirks. “ Just don’t leave.” He makes sure his mask is firmly in place and skirts the row of chairs and lanterns. There’s not much of a line at the bar and the staff is extremely efficient, making Han’s wait less than a minute. He orders two glasses of red wine and two beers. It’s a juggling act, but Han makes it back to the bench- again passing by an oddly non-responsive Hux- and leaves the drinks with Luke. “ Don’t drink ‘em yet. We’re gonna need ‘em.” Even behind the mask, Luke looks confused. 

Chewie is also curious. “ Whatteryergonnado?” 

“ Same thing I always do. Talk my way out of it.”

Chewie snorts, doubtful. 

“ Yes, I do! Every time!” Han protests as a laughing Chewie is lead away by Izzy’s crooked finger and seductive smile. Han hears a chuckle from Luke’s direction, as well, and decides it was worth a joke at his expense. “ I’ll be right back.” And then Han ventures back into the fray. 

**XOXOXOX**

Leia is having a very nice time.

She nailed the congratulatory toast; many thanks to CP for lending her a book of Celtic blessings for the occasion. She’s very comfortable in her formal gown and flipflops, and the doe mask Chewie custom made for her is absolutely stunning. There haven’t been any fights. No fires to put out. And she’s even managed not to accidentally run into Kylo this evening. A miracle in such a small space. 

Things are going so well and Leia is just waiting for the other shoe to drop, as it were. But, until then, she’s going to damn well enjoy herself. 

She’s danced with Poe and Artie. Talked at length with Sabine’s parents. Shared her cake with Oscar’s little girl, Amelia. Currently, Leia is laughing at John- Oscar’s mud show partner- giving Daisy- one of the court ladies- a piggy-back ride around the dance floor. 

“ Evening, milady.” Voice right in her ear.

Crap! Leia didn’t even realize Han had snuck up on her. Typical. She can’t help the slight jump, but she manages to keep her gaze focused on Daisy’s brother, Adam, who is unsuccessfully flirting with Gianni, who had been accommodating enough to relay a bit of Kylo’s life to Leia on his way from the bar back to his crew’s table. Gianni is a sweet kid. Han hasn’t left. Leia wishes she had a drink. “Han.” There’s no need to encourage him.

She’s not surprised when he doesn’t take the hint. “ It’s a really nice party.” Han’s voice is a forced casual, a skosh too loud and inflected. 

“ Yep.” The very definition of curt. Leia glances up at him, having to turn her face to see through the mask. She can see his mouth under the curving beak of his hawk domino, a tongue nervously swiping across his lower lip. The tiny gesture makes her feel things and that’s not the plan here. Leia looks away. Her view is filled up by Oscar, John, and Daisy bouncing by with Amelia in a rowdy game of ring-around-the-rosey. 

And suddenly Leia is pulled along after them, Han’s firm grip on her wrist yanking her into the dancing mass. 

Sonuvabitch! She braces her forearm against his chest, shoving hard. “ What the hell are you-” 

“ We’re dancing.” Han disrupts her very justified rant and lifts her off her feet, holding her small body tight against him. Leia struggles as Han moves slowly across the crowded space, awkwardly swaying with her skirts swinging around his legs. “ Like reasonable human beings at a party who aren’t contemplating bodily harm.” He grins, the old charming grin that always brings a twinkle to Leia’s eye no matter what spiteful things she says. 

“ Put me down.” Leia’s not having any of this. She kicks him in the shin. 

“ Owww!” Han stumbles, but he’s obviously determined. “ Only if you promise to finish this song with me.” 

“... Fine.” Leia goes limp. “ One song.” Can’t hurt, right? It's a wedding, she's a good hostess, and Han will most likely be gone before the end of summer and, no, she’s not acknowledging the sting that thought causes. She's honestly shocked he's stayed this long.

Han huffs and gently sets Leia back onto her feet. He keeps his arm behind her back, her hand held firmly in his. Keeping her hostage. Leia steadies herself and gives the tiniest nod to get Han going. The fingers curved around her palm relax as he moves them back into the flow of dancers. 

This is so, so easy. So familiar, comfortable. She notices that Han is taking smaller steps to match her shorter stride. Little things, always the little things. He steers her around the other couples and twirls her once before bringing her back in close. “ You’re beautiful.” 

“ You’re scruffy.” Leia is trying not to smile. It’s hard to resist. Han is hard to resist. Sonuvabitch. 

Han laughs quietly and lightly squeezes her hand. Then he waltzes them along the outer rim of the dance floor and plops them both down onto a bench. Leia lands with a thud, eyes wide. Before she can question his sanity or punch him or just plain escape, Han has her hands clasped tightly in his own. He jerks his chin toward the other bench. “ That’s Luke.” 

Leia freezes. There’s a man sitting on the other bench that she didn’t notice before. While she was focused on Han’s nonsense. He’s just a hunched blob of gray robes and a mask that reminds her of the Greek Drama. But those clear blue eyes... Leia digs her nails into Han’s hand and he carefully pulls it away to lift up the mask from her face. A rush of nausea twists her stomach as a heavily scarred hand pushes the Drama mask all the way back to reveal her brother’s worn features. 

_Luke_. Wrinkles and grey hair, scraggly beard and lined forehead. The years have clearly left their mark. Not that Leia has escaped unscathed, but it’s still shocking to see such a drastic difference from her last memories of him. Though some things are unchanged, like a certain hang-dog look that she remembers from the aftermath of Kylo’s dramatic exit. Leia exhales and sucks in a deep breath, not even aware of holding the last one. 

With the initial shock dissipating, all the usual emotions she feels whenever Luke crosses her thoughts come flooding in. Mostly anger, a good dose of betrayal and hurt. Only now they’re magnified a thousand times by the man himself sitting opposite her, hands held so tightly in his lap the knuckles are paling. And now there’s this disgusting hint of hope that Leia just knows is going to bite her in the ass. 

“ Leia… You're still beautiful.” Luke is almost smiling, watery eyes soaking up every detail of her person. His voice is smoke roughened, like her own.

“ Thanks.” Leia keeps it short and simple and insincere. This cannot be a good thing. Luke has a reason for being back, she's certain of it. Either he needs something from her or he's dying of cancer and either way she needs a drink. “ Give me that wine.” Han releases her hands and Leia accepts the glass Luke holds out to her, fingers barely brushing. She motions toward the other glass. “ Both of ‘em.” It’s a two-fister kinda situation. Han chuckles and Leia glares at him, wiping the humor from his face. 

No one speaks for several long minutes as Leia drinks her way to a comfortable buzz and the party continues on without them. She hears Poe and Finn walking behind her, one adamantly swearing off getting drunk while the other mentions a puke bucket; BB8 barks in agreement. Han shifts on the seat beside her, long arm coming up to rest on the back of the bench, warm against her shoulders. Luke’s gaze has never left her, and Leia knows this because she can’t look away from him either. 

She finishes the first glass and sets it on the ground. She fishes a pack of cigarettes out of her bra and Luke is the first one with a lighter. He leans forward and holds the flame steady as Leia puffs on the toxic stick. She gets a whiff of reefer from his robes before the cherry begins to glow and she pulls back. Another thing that hasn’t changed. “ So…” Leia exhales a long stream of smoke. “ When did you get in?” 

“ Two weeks ago.” Luke seems to gather himself, picking up a beer bottle and taking a swig. He always needed to keep his hands busy.

Seriously? Sonuvabitch. “ Hm. I assume Han knew all along?” Leia flicks ash in her ex’s direction. Their guilty silence answers that question. “ Of course. Well, I won’t ask _why_ you’re here, just how long you plan on staying.” Because that’s the real question, the important one. Leia tips up the second glass of wine. 

Han is tapping his fingers on his thigh. Luke clears his throat. “ I’m not sure.” He clears his throat again, gaze flickering questioningly over Han- whose hand makes a quick _come on_ gesture- for a split second before he continues, “ I guess that depends on you. On whether or not you can use my help around here.” 

Leia pauses in her drinking, stabbing Han’s overdone expression of innocence with her hard gaze. Luke has just given her almost the exact same spiel that Han recited when he showed up on her front porch right before the faire season began. These two are obviously in cahoots with each other. Chewie, too, most likely. She’s conflicted, of course. Having Luke around would be a great help. Hell, having any extra hands around is a great help most seasons. Turnover is high and dependable employees are hard to come by. And there’s the rub. With his track record, Luke isn’t what Leia would really consider _dependable_. Or Han, for that matter. Sure, they might actually stick it out through the end of the season- though she highly doubts it- but what happens after that? Leia’s poker-face is obviously not as intimidating as it once was because Luke is visibly responding to the suspicion that must be leaking from every pore. He doesn’t squirm, but his expression falls and he sighs so quietly Leia only knows it happened because his beard ruffles slightly in the breeze. 

Han turns his face from the crowd and raises his mask, claiming the other beer bottle next to Luke. He also sighs heavily and searches for something to say. “ Look, Leia... I’ve been trying to say something since I got back in, but...“ 

Luke is first to get his thoughts in order. “ I want to help out, any way that I can. Working the boothes, manual labor, landscaping. I still have my carpentry skills… I just want to be useful.” The beer bottle hangs forlornly between his knees. 

“ We both do. “ Han has found his courage; these two have always fed off each other’s mental state.“ I can push a mower, trim a hedge, saw a board. I noticed the Black Pearl needs a new rail-” 

“ I want to come home.” Luke raises his eyes, knuckles again pulled white on the brown glass bottle. Leia almost flinches at the painful sincerity etched into every line on her brother’s face. The strained tone as he voices his true intentions. “ To start making things right. Any way that I can.” 

There’s a heavy pause where someone in the crowd begins wooing girls-gone-wild style, before Han turns tired eyes to Leia. “ Same here. I should’ve talked to you about it when I first got here, but… I just didn’t know what to say.” 

“ We just want a second chance, Leia. That’s all.” Luke eloquently finishes up their joint plea. 

Leia takes an extra long drag from her cigarette, holding the acrid smoke a moment before burning her lungs and then exhaling two streams from her nostrils. It makes her feel like a dragon, a force of nature just waiting to unleash hell on two brave, but foolhardy, knights. She looks at each in turn, weighing her choices. Leia doesn't doubt their sincerity, no. They wouldn't have expended this much effort, been this afraid of rejection, if their intentions weren’t good. But everyone knows the road to hell is paved in good intentions and this isn’t different from any number of second, third, fourth and beyond chances that she’s seen come through here, attempting to get back on track. Or finding their _true path_ , as Luke and Maz would say. 

The odds are the same. There’s no guarantee that she won’t wake up one morning a couple weeks down the road to find that Han heading to Canada with a van full of ocelots and Luke hitchhiking to the desert for another hoodoo sabbattical. Leaving her here, alone. Again. 

But they _are_ family… No matter what happens. “ We’ll talk about it tomorrow morning. Late tomorrow morning.” Leia knocks back the last of her wine. “ I don’t want anyone knocking on my door before 10 am.” Luke and Han both stand as she does, stubbing out her cigarette butt in the empty plasticware and handing it to Han. Leia reaches up and pats Han’s cheek before dragging his mask back over his face. “ If you’re both really good til then, I’ll even make pancakes.” 

“ Looking forward to it, milady.” Han sneaks a kiss onto the back of her hand, wide grin spoiling the majesty of his domino. 

“ Well, I’ve got to go mingle or something like that.” Leia smoothes the front of her dress, brushing off any stray ash, then holds her arms out to Luke. “ Come on, I haven’t got all day.” Luke immediately complies, stepping forward and folding her up in his voluminous skunky robes. She can hear the beginning of tears in his raspy breath near her ear. It dampens the contrary little imp in her heart that is still reminding her of what happened the last time she trusted Luke. Leia _wants_ to believe this will work. She’s always wanted to believe.

Luke suddenly tenses. Han takes a step back. 

Leia pulls out of the embrace, though she keeps one hand on his elbow because she has the distinct sense that he’s about to run, and turns to look in the direction Luke is staring and Han is avoiding. Her heart thumps erratically at the sight. 

Kylo. On the opposite end of the village common. Staring right back. Shocked disbelief clear on his handsome face even at this distance. 

Leia watches as her son stands in the clear path behind the tables and benches, fists clenching at his sides. She can feel Luke trying to pull away from her grasp and resists; fingers folding tightly in his sleeve. Leia just as stubbornly holds Kylo’s gaze until the boy turns back to his table and slips into his seat. Very deliberately looking straight ahead into the crowd. 

When Leia returns her attention to the men at her side, she isn’t surprised to find them pale and anxious. Men are such babies. Her own heartbeat is nearly back to normal. She releases Luke’s arm and gently rubs the spot she was gripping so tightly. “ Let’s jump off that cliff when we come to it, okay?” 

“ Agreed.” Han heaves a sigh of relief. 

Luke merely nods. 

“ Get some more drinks, have some fun. I’ll see you both in the morning.” Leia gathers herself and steps around the bench, ready to face another slew of half-drunken partiers. She’s got hostess duties to attend to that don’t give a shit what a complicated mess her personal life is quickly becoming. 

Maybe tomorrow they can all blaze up after pancakes. 

**XOXOXOX**

"Oh, my God," Finn breathes, his fingers digging hard into Poe's arm. "She's going. She's doing it. She's gonna ask him!"

Poe winces a little bit at Finn's death-grip on his arm but he doesn't want Finn to move his hand. "What did you expect? You dared her to!"

"I didn't think she'd actually do it! She doesn't even _like_ the guy!" Finn's face has a desperate, what-have-I-done expression. "Oh God. He's going to tell her off. Look!" Impossibly, his grip on Poe's arm increases and he points at Rey walking up to Kylo. 

Poe smacks his hand gently. "Don't draw attention to them! You're making everyone look over there."

"Oh God. I can't watch. Tell me what's happening." Finn ducks behind Poe's shoulder and digs his forehead into the back of his neck, forcing Poe to a level of stoicism he's never aspired to.

He gives the play-by-play. "Well, he hasn't gotten out of his chair yet. She's talking to him." Poe wishes he could hear, but he imagines Rey has just asked Kylo to dance. "The other Knights are all giving each other awkward looks. It's really uncomfortable."

"What? Tell me?" Finn's head pops over Poe's shoulder and now his chin is digging in. "Oh God. My eyes are shut. Tell me!"

"Please calm down. They're talking. Kylo...now he stood up really fast, and one of the other guys stood up. Like he's about to do something. Rey's still talking. And he's answering. And..."

"And?"

"Oh dear."

"What?"

"Oh. Oh my."

"WHAT?"

With a smile, Poe reaches over and tips Finn's chin up to see Rey dancing with Kylo on the fringes of the crowd, almost outside the reach of lantern-light.

Finn punches him in the shoulder. "You made it sound like something awful was happening!"

"That's what you get for not looking!" Poe shrugs. "It wasn't that bad. She asked him, he glared a little bit, there was some minorly awkward shuffling around, then he got up and acted like a normal, decent human being." He watches them silently with Finn for a moment. "I hate to say this, but they look good together."

"It's the height difference. And the fact that she's enough to cancel out all of his flaws."

Poe snorts. "Be honest. Other than his personality, he doesn't have that many." He watches them again, more closely this time. Rey and Kylo don't look like they're hating every second. Her face is tipped up towards his, and she even smiles a little as he settles her her hand against his chest. "I think she likes him."

Finn picks up his drink and finishes it. "No way."

"Mmmm, I think you're wrong." Before Finn can excuse himself to get another drink, Poe stops him. It's not going to get any easier, and after Rey took Finn’s dare, he can't justify his cowardice now. "Hey. Dance with me."

Finn is still watching Rey and Kylo and doesn't respond. Poe grinds his teeth a little. He's not giving up that easily. "Finn."

Finn turns to look at him, dark eyes wide and a little uncertain. "Yeah?"

"Did you hear me ask you to dance?" He smiles, hoping to defuse the tension of the moment. "I had to wait until Rey was occupied or you might try to pawn me off on her again."

Finn worries his lower lip a little. "I wasn't pawning you off." He squints into his cup as if willing it to fill up with beer again.

Poe takes a deep breath. May as well just put it out there. "Is it that you didn't feel comfortable saying no, and didn't want to hurt my feelings?"

"No! I mean, I didn't actually want...to say no." Finn finally turns and gives him a pained look. "I didn't know what to say. Just...not no."

"So." If he's going to have to drag things out of Finn like this then perhaps a relationship isn't really in the cards. Or, it's really too early to think that way. Stay positive. "So, don't say no." He turns towards the dancers. "There's more same-sex couples out there than opposite, at the moment. We won't stand out."

Finn smiles a little. "That's true." He stands up and adjusts his jacket carefully. "Not that I'd care, you know. If we did."

Poe doesn't even have time to do a mental fist pump before Finn holds out his hand. "Come on, show me your moves, then."

"Moves?" Poe grasps Finn's fingers and pulls him out among the dancers, steering him into a less-crowded area. "Good knight, hast thou been indulging in rumour-mongering? What spineless knave doth suggest your humble servant has moves?"

Finn laughs. "No knaves, no rumour-mongering. I call it like I see it." He raises an eyebrow. "And you'd probably better lead, if we're doing this."

"Can do."

Poe ends up nominally leading, but it's one of those faux-medieval dances with lots of letting-go of one's partner to do individual turns and hops. Finn catches on quickly, and they make a couple of circuits of the dance floor before the music changes to something slower and more modern.

Finn looks a little unsure, and Poe grabs his hand again. "One more, okay?"

After an awkward moment Finn settles. He puts a hand on Poe's waist and Poe responds with a hand on Finn's shoulder.

Poe looks pointedly down at his hand. "You realize you're leading this time, right?"

"Don't sound so skeptical." Poe wonders if he's imaging the coyness in Finn's smile. "I also have moves."

"You do?"

"One or two, yeah." Finn's head ducks a little, maybe sheepishly. "This isn't really the kind of song for them, though."

"Aww, and I thought you might go for a little spin-and-dip."

Finn laughs, and their conversation lags. They are simply holding each other and swaying back and forth, avoiding each other's eyes. As the song goes into its final chorus, Poe takes a chance and strokes one hand down from Finn's shoulder to elbow. Through clothing it's not an extremely provocative move, but Finn's eyes dart up to his again, and Poe wonders if he sees fear or the dawning of something else entirely.

**XOXOXOX**

 

This whole evening has been a bloody motherfucking trainwreck.

First, Kylo never should have done shots with Savion. Because now he is drunk.

Second, why is he even _at_ this wedding? If it had been up to him...wait, isn’t it up to him, what the Knights do as a group? It is, and he’d made his desire to skip this wackadoodle event abundantly clear. But oh, no, Gianni was like “but all the girls are gonna be there!” and Savion was all “it’s bad PR if we don’t show as a group, man” and so he’s here, like a sucker.

Third, he’s kind of regretting telling Phasma to come to his trailer because what if it’s some kind of plot to lure him into a menage a trois with her and Hux? Watching their weird interactions makes this seem a less distant possibility than it did before, and the mere thought of it makes him feel a little violated. Next time he is really not going to take anyone’s shit. Kylo’s no means no. And also they are not his type.

Third, no - fourth - it is hot as _hell_ , way hotter than usual and fuck this mask and helmet. Kylo gives them a toss. Also also, still drunk.

Fifth: he is not drunk enough to deal with the appearance of Uncle Luke. No. Just….no. Ignore. That can go on tomorrow’s list of bullshit to manage.

Sixth...Rey. Goddammit Rey and her alabaster skin in the moonlight, like she’s making sonnets write themselves or some shit. Rey laughing with Foe and Pinn and...sigh. Sometimes he thinks he needs friends. Because _that_ always goes so well for him.

Fifth...Rey, again? Kylo finds himself blinking up at her. “What did you say?”

She’s standing in front of him, her eyes wide and almost as startled as he feels. “I asked you to dance with me, Kylo,” she says. “But if you’d rather not, it’s cool.” She gives her skirt a little twitch. “I kind of could use a drink anyhow.”

“No, wait...I...Yeah. Okay.” Kylo stands up. “Let’s do it. Let’s dance.” He holds out his hand to her.

Because seriously, if he’s gotta be at this wack trainwreck wedding and deal with everything he’s dealing with, he’s gonna dance with Rey and everybody can _utterly fuck themselves_ and their opinions on whatever.

He’s touched her hand before. He can probably remember each time, for that matter. First, when she bent his finger back during that first show and he dropped her. After that, he’s positioned her hands a couple of times on her sword, changed her grip in a purely instructional manner. To be helpful. And she’s handed him water, at which point their fingers have touched. Nothing major.

Now, though, her small, slender hand is in his, fancy-dancing style. Her other hand is on his shoulder. Her face is half obscured by the eldritch lines of her mask, but its darkness brings out the contrast between fair skin and the pink curve of lips.

 _Say words, Kylo, you knob_. “You look...very pretty. Tonight.” And she does. The gray dress skims the graceful lines of her body, and the soft nap of the velvet suggests the texture of the warm skin underneath, or at least what he imagines it feels like. Not that he imagines it. Much.

“Thank you.” She laughs a little and looks away from him. “You’re used to seeing me all dirty and sweaty, so I’m glad this is an improvement.”

“You look good dirty and sweaty, too.” The words are out before he can stop them, because shots have killed his filter. He doesn’t meet her eyes, instead looking over her head at Finn and Poe, who are watching them intently. She stumbles just slightly, over his foot, and instinctively he draws her hand inwards towards their bodies and cradles it against his chest, centering her.

This time her laugh is a little forced and uncomfortable. “Oh, you know. They’re kind of…” she wrinkles her nose, as if avoiding the rest of the sentence. “Protective, I guess.”

“Because they think I’m a dick with bad intentions, and that you can’t handle yourself?”

“Oh, they know I can handle myself,” she asserts, and then her face drops as she realizes that she just confirmed the first part of his question. “Um. Well. They thought you wouldn’t dance with me.”

Kylo frowns a little. Honestly, everyone here thinks he is a total douche. And normally he would have zero fucks to give, but...it’s a little tiring. He doesn’t like it. In fact...he hates it.

The realization is an awful one. People don’t like him, and he fucking hates it. When did he even start caring? Fucking whiskey.

“They were wrong,” he says, because he can’t come up with anything else.

“I know,” Rey replies. “And..I’m glad.”

Kylo looks down, and she’s looking right back, her face tipped upward, limned by the soft glow of the floating lanterns. The weird band is playing a really weird lute-heavy cover of an acoustic cover of _Bad Blood_ that is just ridiculous and inappropriate to a wedding, even he fucking knows that. And yet, while he’s thinking about how hard it is to allow someone to really _see_ him, while Rey seems to be looking deep inside him right now, eyes a fathomless dark in her masked face...oh, baby, now we got problems, indeed.

It’s like that weird _click_ happens, the one he experienced the first time he practiced the sword with her. Their breathing seems to speed up at the same time, same rate, and he feels the hot increase of blood flow from the neck up even as he sees a flush paint her cheeks below her mask. 

And you’d think increased blood flow to his head would make his brain work better but oh, no, of course not because other than what little bit of hemoglobin is necessary to make his face red, the rest of it has all gone racing south and all he can think about is how it might feel to slide one hand up her back, skidding on velvet until he reaches the skin above her high collar and the little curls of hair that have escaped her complicated braid. How would it feel to dig his fingers in there - not to hurt her, but to hold her in place in case she might shy away when he tries to kiss her, because he’d almost expect her to do just that and he wants a chance, just one chance, to convince her that she’d like kissing him, even against her better judgement. He wants to trap her bottom lip gently between his teeth until she decides to kiss him back.

He’s still thinking about making a move when her eyes widen and dart away from his, and his head suddenly bounces forward, knocking his chin against her forehead. “Ow!” She rubs the reddening mark.

“Sorry, what the _fuck_ , sorry!” He turns to basically kill whoever just hit him in the back of the head.

A red-haired girl in a gold mask and sideways Valkyrie helmet is shrieking and waving a bouquet of flowers around wildly, and he pushes her away, although more gently than he wants to. Rey grabs onto his arm. “Hey, Kylo...they just threw the bouquet, that’s all!” She sounds worried, and her eyes are still huge behind her mask. “We were in the way - I guess we should’ve been paying attention, huh?” Her laugh is nervous, and her fingers squeeze his bicep as if willing him not to commit some sort of murderous faux pas that neither of them can recover from.

So he doesn’t, somehow, rearrange anyone’s face, and he lets Rey pull him away from the milling crowd now waiting for the second bridal bouquet to get tossed. 

She’s still talking, but the blood pounding in his ears obscures whatever it is she’s saying. It doesn’t matter, anyhow. Not one fucking bit.

“I need another drink,” he says, not even looking at her as he heads for the bar.

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

The rum was a bad idea. 

Hux was perfectly fine after six fingers of whiskey and that last whiskey and Coke. And then the bartender obviously made a mistake and gave him someone else’s dark rum and Coke but he wasn’t giving it back after drinking half in one swallow. 

And the rum is what got him thinking about the Bahamas and his all too brief vacation there three years ago. With Phasma. With _Christie_. His beautiful Queen. They’d spent the entire first day on the beach and that night she smacked his badly burned skin until his pillow was soaked in tears and the sheets in cum. And the next morning she’d taken him to hospital for sun poisoning. Afterward, Hux’s days consisted of sipping daiquiris in their (darkened) yurt and watching Phasma swim nude in their private cove just beyond the front steps. His nights left him aching and blissful. It was the best week of his life. 

Hux goes back to the bar for another rum and Coke. Minus the Coke. 

His elbow jostles a passerby. A gold leaf harlequin gives him a nasty look. He doesn’t care. The drink is in his hand and he lurches away from the bar and ambles down the garden path, toward the main reception where he’s managed to drag a chair into a dark corner just outside the low hedgerow marking the garden perimeter. From here, Hux can see the bar on his left. And on his right, the vast expanse of faire ground swarming with velvet and leather and garishly ornate masks. Drunken simpletons.

Phasma’s glorious blond head is easy to spot amidst the darker colors. Hux’s gaze follows her through the undulating crowd. He can’t look away.

Between his third and fourth whiskey there were slices of cake, cheap champagne and poorly worded speeches circulating through the guest tables. Phasma stood just inside the entry of Tuck’s Abbey, talking on her mobile, ignoring the festivities. 

By his fifth drink people were dancing under the lanterns and ridiculous strings of daisies. The band alternated between medieval court dances and modern selections, all of which would normally grate across Hux’s nerves like children’s laughter and kitten videos but he wasn’t giving it much thought at the time. The buffet had been condensed to the one table near his post, the starving guests having descended, locust-like, onto the generous spread and reduced it to nothing more than a few platters of fruits, cheese and crackers. The lingering smell made Hux nauseous and he tipped his glass up, spicy liquor drowning out the scent of warm roquefort. 

He slowly nursed his sixth drink while watching Phasma fraternize with her knights. She even accepted a few offers to dance, her strong graceful figure sweeping effortlessly between the other dancers. Hux’s fingers tightened around his glass, recalling the warmth of her body pressed snug against his and damning her partners for receiving even an inkling of the treasured sensation.

When he returns with his most recent glass of rum, Hux falls heavily into his seat, the rickety legs threatening to crack with the stress. He scans the mob with bleary eyes and instantly picks out his precious queen. Phasma is talking to Kylo, the two stationed behind the Knights of Ren table that only has one other occupant; an unconscious young man, red and gold dragon mask askew on top of his head, face buried in his folded arms. Hux is reasonably certain it is that brash idiot, Bram.

Behind the sleeping dragon, Kylo slouches against the wooden facade of a trinket cart stocked with wedding favors. His helmet is on the table, mask pushed to the top of his head, dragging his unruly hair back. He stares directly into the crowd, his beady-eyed gaze obviously focused on someone in particular. But every now and again, Kylo brings a water bottle to his lips and subtly turns his attention to Phasma, eyeing her up and down. Stupidly curious. 

Much, much too close to him stands Phasma. Exquisite, flawless Phasma. Back straight, one arm propping up her delightful breasts, the palm cupping her pointed elbow as her opposite hand cradles a short glass of ice and liquor. A flash of creamy thigh in the high slit of her dress. A single swirl of platinum blond curved along her cheek. Phasma takes in the jubilant masses as a whole, looking down on them as their rightful superior. Occasionally, her gaze darts toward Kylo for the briefest second. Calculating.

Hux drains his glass.

Phasma says something to Kylo and he leans in closer to hear.

Close enough to whisper. To touch. To kiss. 

Too fucking close. 

Hux is up and pushing his way through irate guests and nearly tripping on a chair leg and grabbing someone’s abandoned drink from the table and slamming it back before shoving himself between The Dark Knight of Tantrums and his own elegantly vicious queen, demanding, “ Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“ What the hell, Hux?!” Kylo at his back, pissy. 

“ Because it’s none of your business.” Face to face with Phasma’s cold gaze, offhand tone.

Kylo’s hand on his arm, forcing him to the side. “ You’re drunk.” Look of disgust on Kylo’s ugly face. 

“ Fuck you.” Hux barely registers the shocked expressions on both Kylo and Phasma at his uncharacteristic cursing. He throws Kylo’s arm off and focuses his slightly less than keen attention on Phasma. Beautiful, blushing Phasma. “ You _are_ my business. Your contracts, your performances, your equipment-”

“ Paperwork that can be handed off to anyone with half a brain.” Phasma cuts him off dismissively, rolling her eyes. “ Your business is to keep this hillbilly hell running and you don’t need me to do it. Nelson is capable of keeping the Knights of the Storm functioning at a profitable level.”

Jealously quickly morphs into anger. Hux narrows his eyes and lashes out. “ The Knights of the Storm are contracted as a unit, of which, _you_ are a part of and you are not going anywhere.” He’s not going to let her leave this place. No. She is absolutely fucking _not_ leaving. 

Phasma sips her drink, shaking her head. “ Minor details. My contract is with Snoke, not you, and tomorrow I am going to re-negotiate that contract and-”

“ For what?! ” Hux is aware that his voice is rising, but he can’t seem to modulate it. Desperation is beginning to swallow him whole. “ All the planning, the negotiating, the favors called in! I pulled you out of the gutter! Secured your position, your title, your very fucking way of life and this is what you do?! Sell yourself to Kylo-Fucking-Ren like a common whore?! ” 

Phasma drops both arms to her sides, thumping the glass down on the table hard enough to slosh the drink onto her hand. Staring him down. Challenging. She spits out each word, every syllable meant to cut. “ You don’t _own_ me.”

“ I _love_ you!” It’s a full blown shout. Breathing heavily, Hux meets Phasma’s wide-eyed gaze, unflinching. He’s known, damn him to hell, he’s known since the moment he saw her angry, dirty face on stage so long ago that he was going to lose this battle, but Hux was convinced he could suppress these inconvenient emotions. He was successful, in the beginning. Their violent nights together, with Phasma beating the words of worship from him, were cathartic enough to allow Hux a normality during their everyday interactions. He could ignore the blooming warmth in his chest whenever she was near, or claim it as lust. The time he spent kissing her feet could be attributed to her orders. The tears he shed on her breast could be blamed on her punishments. Every action in her presence could be explained away in the context of their non-traditional relationship. 

Until it couldn't. Until Hux couldn't. 

He can’t. 

People are looking at them. Whispering.

Kylo lights a cigarette. One brow arched. 

Hux swallows nervously and watches Phasma’s emotions skate across her features until her expression hardens in a flutter of lashes. He opens his mouth to explain or deny or contradict, but she doesn’t give him that mercy. “ Good-bye, Brendan.” She carefully picks up her glass, excuses herself to Kylo, and walks away. Someone in the crowd is already calling her name and she disappears into the throng of dancing bodies. 

Hux continues to stare after her as the surrounding world collapses to a single point of pain between his ribs. The music and voices all blur together into a dull buzz at the back of his head. Lingering hint of her perfume twined around wisps of cigarette smoke burning in his nostrils. Someone slaps him on the back. Kylo. Hux glances in his direction, lacking the strength to hate the man’s swagger as he walks off into the shadows. 

Hux is left alone, paralyzed, at the center of his shattered world. 

The sleeping dragon peacefully snores on. 

**XOXOXOX**

 

As the music ends the band announces the tossing of the bridal bouquets, and several dancers go for drinks. Before Poe can offer, Finn breaks away from him gently. "I'm pretty beat. Think I might go back to the Falcon and get some sleep."

Poe nods. "Mind if I walk you back?"

He wants to kick himself when Finn doesn't answer. So, okay, the vibes he's been getting aren't vibes at all, just wishful thinking. He's indulging in mentally berating himself when Finn taps him on the arm. "Hey, you comin'?"

Damned loud mental berating. "Uh, yeah."

The path to the campground is lit with lanterns strung here and there in the trees like fairy lights. Over the deep summer skirl of cicadas they can hear scattered voices. Laughter, and the coaxing tones of an easygoing hookup about to happen. An occasional drunken "Whoooooo!" and the splashing of skinnydippers.

"Well, here we are," Finn says unnecessarily as they enter the ring of stones Rey has used to set the perimeter of their "yard". "Thanks for the escort, man."

"No problem."

They’re finally just standing there, wordless and awkward, and Poe almost thinks he should excuse himself and go. But he doesn’t do that.

"Hey. Don't feel weird about this, and don't feel like you have to say anything at all, but..." Poe has to stop and swallow, work some saliva back into his mouth. "I like you. _Like_ like, like, the kind of boy/girl like, except when it's boy/boy like, you know?" Oh God. "How bloody unsmooth was that? I'm so much better in Elizabethan English."

Finn shrugs. His face is a shadow profile but Poe thinks he can see the curve of a smile. "You do just fine. And I like you too. _Like_ like. Like you said." He barks an abrupt laugh. "We're both pretty unsmooth. I was a really sheltered child, what's your excuse?"

"Um, I'm a renfaire nerd?"

"So, we won the awkward communications lottery, I guess."

“Eh, talking is overrated sometimes,” Poe says, slowly. He’s had an idea, might as well throw it out there. "We could just fool around. No talking required."

Finn's eyes get bigger, and Poe realizes he's spooked him. "Wait. I take that back. I mean...it'd be great and all, but I want to get to know you, like without any pressure or expectations. I know!" He hurries on, not wanting Finn to interrupt. "You want to come to my house?"

Finn looks like he’s having a hard time hanging onto the thread of the conversation. “Your house. You’re inviting me to your house? Like…” he closes his eyes momentarily, as if trying very hard to remain calm. “A date? Are you asking me on a date? To your house?”

Poe holds out his hands in what he hopes is a calming gesture. Never in his life has he had such a hard time getting someone he is _sure_ likes him on board with hanging out together. “My parents’ farm is about ten minutes away. We've got chickens, and sheep, and horses and llamas and dogs and cats, birds, lots of work to do, an orchard, bees, planes - it's the best!" Poe knows he's babbling, but he wants to give Finn an amazing experience without even having to touch him, and this is the best way he knows of to do that. "It always smells fantastic there, like, really earthy, with peach in summer and apple in fall, and freshly mown hay, and animals, and diesel fuel, and -"

Finn is laughing now. "You make it sound pretty great."

"It _is_ great.” Poe hopes his expression is more encouraging than desperate, because he really feels more like the latter. “And a really nice change from this place." Poe takes a deep breath. "Please just say you'll come. Just as a friend. You can sleep in the guest bedroom. And after that, well...let's not even consider it right now. Just come hang out with me at the farm for a few days." 

He starts to feel better when Finn’s smile grows again, and goes in for the closer. “I’ll even take you up in my mom’s crop duster. Best time you’ll ever have with me when we’re both off the ground.”

Finn chuckles. “Okay, okay. You got me. Honestly, you had me at dogs and cats.” He looks sidelong at Poe. “When we doing this, then?”

 _Don’t pressure him. Calm down._ “How about next week? It’ll be good to get away after a long weekend of work, right?”

“Yeah, it will.” Finn is still grinning, but finally looks back at the Falcon. “I, um. Yeah. I think I’m gonna turn in, then.”

“Okay.” Poe watches as Finn fishes out the RV’s door key. “Goodnight, sweet prince.”

He thinks he hears girlish laughter as he turns to go.

**XOXOXOX**

After the dancing debacle - honestly, she’d thought things were going okay - Rey distracts herself from the heat and the unwished-for pulse of desire deep in her belly by dancing with everybody in the near vicinity. Gemma. Oscar. Both brides. Gianni, twice. Savion until he starts doing steps she can’t follow. And a host of other people.

Several of them propose a skinny-dipping outing in the pond by Leia’s house, and for a humid few seconds that sounds awesome, but then she remembers people talking about coming out if the water with their nether regions coated in leeches, so she excuses herself. One more drink to chase a few bites of the strawberry-laden wedding cake, and she follows the lantern-lit path back to the campground.

Maybe tomorrow she’ll feel bad about abandoning her beautiful dress on the Falcon’s floor, but right now she just needs to feel cooler air on her skin. Not nearly enough breeze comes in the narrow, screened windows that border the Falcon’s top bunk area. Her body still feels restless and restrained. 

As she lies on her back staring at the bunk’s ceiling, she notices a corner of the upholstery that has not been fully tacked back down during whatever meticulous renovations have been done on the Falcon’s interior. She worries the fabric gently with her fingers until it pulls away and a small folded packet falls onto her shoulder.

It’s paper - old paper, brittle-feeling, so she opens it carefully. Inside is a pencil drawing, done in a childish hand, but not badly. The castle tower in flames is easy to make out, as is the knight below with the long sword, fighting off a horde of creatures rendered in thicker, angrier strokes, swarming towards the knight with long, clutching claws.

She pushes the paper closer to the glow of dim moonlight at the window, and can make out the name written in grade-school script in the top left. _Ben Solo_. She hears her own intake of breath and stares at the images on the paper, pictures practically screaming the sadness and anxieties of a child faced with things he doesn’t understand and can’t control.

Kylo Ren is not a child, and he is no longer that person, but the picture tells her more about him than all of her experiences with him combined. She smoothes her thumb over the small figure of the hopelessly outnumbered knight.

Voices outside startle her and she hastily re-folds the paper before tucking it back where she found it. She makes herself focus on the voices. Finn, and Poe.

Poe is desperately attempting to get something going with Finn, and Finn is...apparently oblivious, in his infuriatingly charming way. _Dumb boys_. Rey rolls her eyes and wonders if she’s going to have to go out there and order them inside together. She can go spend the night at the Red Tent if she has to. They can owe her one.

But Poe manages to turn it around, somehow, and she smiles as she hears Finn agree to a no-strings type visit, and then as they say their goodnights, she laughs out loud, momentarily forgetting the hidden drawing and its artist. 

Almost.

_tbc_


	8. Cowardly Heroes and Plain-Dealing Villains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendly confessions, dirty dealings, and a pervy corgi round out the wedding night and start a whole new set of problems for our fearless players!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, technical difficulties are the bane of online existence. 
> 
> Sincerest thanks to everyone reading, leaving kudos and comments! We love that you're loving it, too!!!
> 
> To My Queen, frack <3

**Chapter 8: Cowardly Heroes and Plain-Dealing Villains**

Finn stands just inside the Falcon, door swinging closed behind him with a soft click. He takes the step and leans over the small table, peering through the blinds at Poe’s retreating figure and smiling at the sight. Poe is walking away with his fist high in the air like the ending of that breakfast movie. Obviously pumped. Finn feels the same. Mostly. He’s nervous as hell, too. 

“ Stop being a creeper.” Rey’s voice pipes up from her bunk.

“ You’re the one eavesdropping.” Finn retorts, turning around in the dim light filtering through the blinds. He steps on something soft and jerks his foot back. Crap. Upon closer inspection it’s Rey’s fancy dress; picking it up creates a warm Rey-scented cloud. Finn carefully drapes it over the back of the dining banquette. He needs to get out of his own formal ren-wear and into something more conducive to airflow. Finn grabs his shorts and undershirt from his bunk and reaches for the bathroom door.

“ It’s too cramped in there.” Rey again, and the quiet _shhhhnk_ of ball-bearings sliding in their track. “ My curtain’s closed and I”m facing the other way.” 

“ But-”

“ Undress. Now.”

Finn can’t help but smirk at the suggestive nature of Rey’s command. “ Yes, ma’am.” And his own reply reminds him of a knight acquiescing to his queen. It’s pretty accurate if he thinks about it. Moving past the bathroom door and into the so-called dining area, Finn removes his belt and boots. His embroidered tunic and breeches are taken off and carefully placed on the hangers lining a makeshift clothesline across the cab. Shorts and tank top are quickly pulled on. 

After a brief trip to the kitchen sink to wash his face and brush his teeth, Finn rolls into bed feeling pretty damn good. 

_Shhhnk._ “ So, you and Poe?” 

Finn lies flat on his back, on top of the sheets, and stares at the bottom of the upper bunk. “ Me and Poe, what?” He wonders if all the animals on the Dameron farm run free with each other or if it’s like the zoo and each animal has its own enclosed habitat. Probably the former. 

Rey sing-songs, “ You and Poe sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-”

“ We didn’t kiss.” Finn states flatly. He scratches at the textured vinyl covering on the wall, surprised at the crazy amount of disappointment he feels at not doing something that makes him so anxious.

“ Sounds like you wanted to.” Ever perceptive Rey. Her flushed face appears, upside down, over the side of the bed. “ I’m pretty sure Poe is just as into it as you are so don’t be afraid to ask. Or you know… just go for it.” 

Finn shrugs and moves over on the bed, pushing his shoulder against the wall, patting the open space. Rey takes the invitation and swings her legs over, dropping her pillow onto the mattress below, stretching out beside Finn. They do this, every now and then. Usually when they can’t fall asleep and find it easier to settle down while sharing silly conversations in the dark, hands folded together on the blanket between them. 

It’s easy to find Rey’s calloused fingers and mesh his own with them. “ I want to go for it, I want it to happen, but I don’t know if Poe is going to like me afterward.” Finn chews on the inside of his cheek. 

“ I don’t think Poe would do that.” Rey protests thoughtfully. “ He doesn’t strike me as a wham-bam-thank you ma’am kind of guy.”

Finn chuckles; those words coming out of Rey’s proper mouth is just too funny. He sobers quickly, however, quiet sigh tickling his nose. “ Not like that. I mean... “ Finn turns his head toward Rey. She’s mostly shadow, a thin sliver of light from the windows outlining her slender figure; a pale tank top and men’s boxers do nothing to hide the gentle curves of her body. Rey is beautiful and it’s not the first time this thought has occurred to Finn. Touching her would be a pleasure, giving her pleasure would be an even greater pleasure, but he’s never been good with the whole friends-with-benefits thing and she is one of the closest friends he’s ever had in his life and it’s entirely possible she’ll hate him for the same reasons he’s afraid that Poe will hate him. Which is the entire reason he’s glossed over his previous life so far, left out all the incriminating details. It's not lying, not really, but it feels like it sometimes. 

Rey squeezes his hand, smiling gently in the dark. Finn takes a breath. “ You know those people who stand outside the clinics and funerals, holding signs and screaming at people that they’re going to hell and God hates fags and all that crazy shit?” Rey nods, eyes huge. Finn turns his head to stare up at the overhead bunk; he can’t look her in the eye. “ Well, until I was sixteen, that was me.” He plunges on, confessing everything before he can chicken out. “ A family adopted me before I was a year old, I never knew my biological parents. Granmama ran the family, really just a fake-Christian hate group; this whole mess of adopted kids, foster kids, blood relations, random crazies all living on a few acres in backwoods Georgia. We didn’t go to school, didn’t have internet, weren’t allowed to watch anything but the news on tv, didn’t talk to anyone outside the _family_. And every week we crammed into the cars and drove hours to ruin someone’s life. Calling these poor women murderers, screaming at mourners, spewing hate at the pride parades… I did all that before I was even four years old. And I knew it made people angry, made them cry, but I thought it was for their own good. I was _taught_ that it was the right thing to do, for everyone. I believed that garbage for years and even when I had my doubts I kept following orders because I thought here was something wrong with _me_ , not the family. Right after I turned sixteen we went to picket a soldier’s funeral and I don’t even know who threw the first punch but all hell broke loose and I was standing in the middle of this chaos, everyone screaming and fighting and then I could hear sirens but everyone was so hellbent on beating the shit outta everyone else that no one ran. But me. I ran. Didn’t wait for nobody, just ran and ran until I couldn’t move my legs and then I ran some more. ”

Finn’s eyes are dry, he’s cried himself out over this years ago, but there’s still an ache in his chest whenever he dredges up those memories. There’s a quake of fear now, telling it to someone else whose approval matters dearly to him. “ Well, long story short, I didn’t go back home. There was a long line of police questioning and social services and court dates and they put me in a real homeschool program and then an actual public school and I had decent foster families until I graduated. And then I left.” He pauses again, uncertain how to interpret Rey’s silence. Wipes his wrist across his itchy nose.“ And now I’m here.” Finn waits, telling himself that he’s ready for whatever her reaction is. 

Rey’s quiet voice finally dispels the air of anxiety. “... I’m glad you’re here.” 

Finn lets go of the hostage breath and roughly rubs his watery eyes. “ I’m glad I’m here, too.” 

“ You’re a good man, Finn. And Poe knows that.” Rey shifts beside him, moving closer, until their bodies are touching from shoulder to ankle down one side. She maneuvers their arms until she has his hand clasped tightly in hers, resting on her middle; rising and falling with each breath. It’s the most comforting thing anyone’s ever done for Finn and the tension disappears from his frame. 

They lie there for a few minutes, letting the little table-fan cool their overheated skin. Finn sniffles twice, and Rey squeezes his hand each time. After an awkward throat clearing, Finn figures he owes Rey a chance to get something off her own perfectly-shaped chest and he remembers Poe’s earlier observation. “ You don’t have to say anything, but if you ever wanna talk about stuff… like about… liking Kylo-” her fingers twitch. “ Then I just want you to know that I’m here. I’ll listen. I’ll try to like him, too.” He shrugs. “ Or you know, at least be civil.” 

Rey’s profile nods. “ Thanks.” She gently rubs her thumb in the center of his captured palm. “ I think I do like him. A little.” 

Finn wants to ask _why_? Why the hell _why_? Kylo is an ass. The bruises from their first encounter took more than a week to fade away and the place on Finn’s shoulder is still tender. But, maybe Poe is right and Rey sees something worthwhile in Ren’s brooding good looks, hidden under all the asshattery. “ Is he treating you well? I mean, it seems like he’s nicer to you than he is to anyone else, so maybe, you know… Maybe he likes you a little bit, too.” Finn really hates to admit that there’s anything redeemable about Kylo Ren, but he’s noticed how the man looks at Rey. And it’s not always like he wants to nail her against a wall and suck syrup from her body. Once, and _only_ once, Kylo was staring after Rey the same way Finn used to look at other kids playing with their families at the park. With longing, and resignation. Finn still doesn’t like the guy.

“ Maybe,” Rey whispers absently. Her whole body seems to deflate with the softly spoken word. 

Finn decides not to push anymore. He lifts their joined hands to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles, before letting her pull back to their previous spot. “ Sweet dreams.”

“ You, too.” She kisses his cheek and snuggles in. 

Finn closes his eyes and lets himself melt into his surroundings. The peaceful white noise of the fan, the calming scent of clean sweat and stale perfume, the solid pressure of Rey’s body resting against his own. 

**XOXOXOX**

BB8 likes Leia-Poe’s Home. 

It is cool and shady and smells like all the Food. All the Fluffy-Poes are barking everywhere today at Leia-Poe’s Home. They won’t let Poe come inside and Poe puts BB8 on the porch and licks BB8’s nose and leaves to play with Finn-Poe and Rey-Poe.

The Fluffy-Poes give BB8 crunchies and water. It is too loud. BB8 walks into the big Food-Room. Leia-Poe gives BB8 his own Pillow-Bed. Leia-Poe has a BB8, too. It is Tooka-BB8. Tooka-BB8 is very soft and barks funny and hisses and scratches. BB8 gets in his Pillow-Bed. Tooka-BB8 gets in with BB8.

_Barkhisslicklicklicksleep…_

Tooka-BB8 stretches and pokes BB8. BB8 hears Poe. 

_Wigglewigglebarkbarklick…_

It is dark, but Poe carries BB8 to the Play-Place. All sorts of Poes are barking and howling and wiggling and eating and drinking and licking and wagging. Fluffy-Poes and Shiny-Poes and Little Poes and Good-Poes and Bad-Poes. BB8 gets all the Food. Rey-Poe is extra soft. Finn-Poe is soft, too, like Poe. BB8 likes the soft.

BB8 follows Chewie-Poe and Han-Poe. They pet BB8’s bottom and give him Cake-Food. The Old-Poe scratches behind BB8’s ears. Savion-Poe carries BB8 to Gianni-Poe and they give BB8 belly rubs. Kylo-Poe ignores BB8. BB8 will tinkle on Kylo-Poe’s shiny hat later. Poe brings BB8 water and rubs his bottom and licks his nose. 

BB8 plays with a Little Poe and some Good Poes and then BB8 is tired and walks to the Scary-Place. The Scary-Place is cool and quiet and grassy and soft.

_Wigglewiggleyawnsleep…_

**XOXOXOX**

Brendan Hux stumbles blindly along the poorly-lit faire path towards his trailer. The bottom has dropped out of his world, and he is in free-fall. He hasn't felt this bad since, when was it? Sixth grade, Tully Grant and his minions, cornering Brendan in that gauntlet of terror, the middle school boys' showers. Writing cruel, vulgar slurs all over his naked body with permanent marker, and then trapping him under the ice-cold spray until the ink started to fade. It took a very long time.

That very afternoon he had vowed never to allow himself to be vulnerable to such pain and ridicule ever again. And yet here he is, remembering all the eyes focused on him as he loudly declared his love for his Queen, and then those eyes witnessing her rejection. His humiliation. He is still that skinny, milk-pale kid with "pussy" written on his chest.

"No, I'm not," he slurs angrily, right before tripping over a loose stone in the path. He lurches wildly to one side, arms windmilling to try to hang onto his balance. He manages to do it, but at the expense of his internal equilibrium. The contents of his stomach catapult upwards into his mouth and the putrid stew of warm liquor barely misses his shoes when it spews with the rest of the contents of his stomach.

Brendan heaves until the tears pouring from his eyes are as much from vomitous exertion as emotional pain. Or at least, that's what he tells himself as he sways back and forth, bent over, bracing his hands on his thighs. "Oh, God, why?" he breathes when he has enough oxygen to spare. "Why did I tell her? Why did I tell her like _that_?"

But he knows the answer. Because he was desperate. And because in the tender, buried depths of his very cold and calculating heart, he believed she would return his feelings. That she would want to be united with him forever in their dark, sadomasochistic union of bodies and souls. Bodies. Oh God, how will he live without the sculpted marble idol that is her body? How will he suffer the absence of her punishing hands, her scoring fingernails? How will he live without the merciless curve of her wicked lips as she devises ingenious new tortures for his abject, trembling flesh?

"I can't." He moans, dropping to his knees. "I can't live without you, Christie. My Queen. My Conqueror. I can't...I don't know what to do."

Hauling himself back to his feet, his head feels like a ton of lead as it pulls him towards his trailer. There is only one thing left _to_ do, and that is immerse himself in some sort of paperwork to try to get his mind off his pain.

He is fumbling for the key to his trailer's door when a slight thumping against his shoe distracts him, and he drops his keys into a pile of leaves. Bending down with a curse, his hand meets a lightweight metal frame, rubber wheels, and a very solid, warm little body.

Ugh. That annoying disabled dog of Dameron's. Hux's watery eyes focus on its big brown ones as he gives the wiggly little body a not so gentle push. "Shoo. Get out of here."

But the dog is persistent, whining and rubbing against his leg in a manner that seems to suggest that even this poor, wretched creature feels sorry for him. And the bruised interior of Hux's heart gives another quiver and flops over. The proximity of a warm, furry little body victimizes him further, and a sob grates out of his throat as he lets his fingers trail over the incredibly soft doggy ears.

"She doesn't love me, little dog," he whispers. "My Queen has cast me away."

A wet nose snuffles the palm of his hand in something like sympathy and Hux gives in to the luxury of a helpless weep for a good two minutes straight. He times himself on his watch. It's all he can allow, even in his despair. Then he straightens and brushes the dirt off his knees, and opens the trailer door.

He looks down at the little dog. Its apparent paraplegia doesn't allow it to wag its nub of a tail, but it is stamping its stubby forelegs back and forth as its hind end wiggles. Hux sighs. He bends down and gives the pitiful thing a boost into his trailer. "If you relieve yourself inside, I will punt you like yesterday's trash," he tells it ominously.

No one ever has to know that he has taken some small comfort in the companionship of another creature, the only one who seems at all interested in not making him feel like utter shit at the moment.

Ever mindful of his suit, Hux changes into a set of neat black warmups that are only comfortable because he never turns the A/C in his trailer below maximum. Still drunk, he selects the lone bottle of a sports drink from his mini-fridge and takes several swallows.

The almost salty lemon taste of it reminds him that his Queen makes sure there is always an electrolyte-replenishing drink available for him when she is going to be treating him to the most intense abuses. The thought of it makes his throat threaten to close up again, but he forces himself to take measured swallows before replacing it, and hopefully his thoughts of her, in the cold.

The little dog is now resting in his wheeled cart, limpid eyes staring expectantly at Hux. A wiggle appears whenever Hux looks at him, and after a moment, he relents and pours water into a dish and puts it on the floor. Never let it be said he is unkind to animals, or the less fortunate. Except when he is, which is usually. Just not tonight.

Hux seats himself at his desk, but the demands of the straight, hard chair are soon too much so he picks up his laptop and relocates to the floor, with his back against the modular black couch. Next to the dog with its mute sympathy. He pats it on the head one more time before powering up the laptop.

"Well, little dog, here we are," he muses. It helps, somehow, to have an audience to ruminate to. "You are a reject of nature, one that someone has chosen to save and make precious. I thought I was precious, but now I am rejected, and now I must figure out a way to go on."

For Hux, even dating back to that scarring childhood locker room event, this way has always been numbers. He opens up one of his spreadsheets that helps keep track of the faire's overall profits and losses. Then he opens one containing the numeric details of the various performance and vendor contracts for the season.

"You know, little dog, normally I wouldn't be this wrecked over a relationship. I can do any number of very physically challenging and perverse things with a number of people and not get emosh..." Hux notices himself slurring a bit and pauses. "Emotionally involved. But Christie..." he pauses again, almost breathless at the exquisite pain caused by his lips shaping her name. "Phasma," he attempts, trying to keep a professional distance. "My Queen," he finally continues. It's what she is, and always will be..."My Queen is different. She is the one, dog. The One for me. And I can't just let her go like this. I _can't_. But I can't possess her. I can't impede her glory. She must be free to accomplish, to achieve, to mount the steps of Olympus itself!" Hux pauses again as his cursor hovers over the folder containing Phasma's contract. He clicks it open. "She must want to be with me of her own free will. She must see me as a true partner, someone with whom she can pursue and attain all of her goals."

The dog gives a little whine and Hux realizes he has stopped scratching its head. He's surprised that he wants to resume; the petting is calming, somehow. But he can't pet and type, so he awkwardly rolls to his feet, still balancing the laptop in one hand. "Let's find something to keep you occupied, shall we?" A peek in the cupboards reveals a small guilty pleasure; Captain Crunch cereal. Normally he only treats himself after the most challenging of days, but if this night isn't challenging he doesn't know what is. He pours a big bowl and returns to his spot on the floor, where his erstwhile companion immediately gives him the very embodiment of puppydog eyes.

Hux maintains the eye contact until his bruised heart can't take it anymore, and he sets the bowl on the floor between them. "Just between you and me, that kind of begging is not considered attractive outside of certain intimate activities," he grouses. The dog ignores him in a spasm of delight and digs his whiskery snout into the bowl.  
　  
"I got my MBA from Wharton at age twenty-two. I could have had a top-level career in entertainment management on either coast," he says, settling into a pattern of conversation with his non-verbal, if attentive partner. "But no, I decided to come _here_ and attempt to polish a turd. Because apparently I am a true masochist, in every way. Not just with my exalted one, who wields the implements of pain and desire like an artist." Hux sighs. It's just not his way to give up this easily. He would have left this faire long ago, a desolate, abandoned failure of management, if that were the case. "But I didn't do that! I not only got this faire off the auction block for unpaid debts, I paid off all of its creditors in two season, _and_ increased profits by twenty-eight percent. It's virtually _unheard of_." Hux warms to his topic. "Want to know how I did it?"

Delicate, crumb-coated whiskers tremble in anticipation of his answer, so Hux taps on his keyboard. He accesses a branch of files that are buried inside a series of unrelated folders, and suddenly his masterpiece is unveiled.

"Do you see these invoices?" He clicks open a folder and a cascade of numbers appears. "For maintenance and upkeep, sanitation, landscaping, all manner of facilities management?" There is a sugary snuffle as the dog digs deeper into the cereal bowl. "Every single one has a markup of fifteen percent. That was the number I decided would be significant enough to make a difference, but not easily noticed. And a couple of these service providers are just shell companies. They don't actually exist." He switches over to a different file. "These are the performers who were paid for the entire season while only working for 4 or 6 weeks. And I should also mention that I've been taking a cut of the vendor sales, over and above their booth lease."

At last he opens a password-protected file that gives a very significant number. "And this is where I've been depositing _my_ profits. I look at is as a sort of slush fund, to be tapped for whatever might be deemed necessary. That could even mean bailing this faire out yet again, if that was something that would benefit me. Or, even purchasing it outright."

Hux can't help but feel pleased at his machinations, looking at the number right there in front of him, with all the zeroes. The dog only regards him lazily, a sugar haze spreading throughout its little body.

Since he isn't getting a proper appreciation for his strategy and hard work, Hux just looks at the details of Phasma's contract again and clicks his tongue. As much as he's still pissed about it prompting tonight's ludicrous display of emotion (on his part), he has to admit he can't blame her for wanting more.

"Can't blame her one bit, little dog," he muses. "My Queen is being compensated like a peasant. She's right to be angry. She's worth more. So much more."

And then, as the mental exercise of going over the numbers has started to cut through his inebriation, Hux has an idea.

He opens the payroll files and uses his banking app to make a deposit to a single performer's account.

Then he texts Phasma. _Look at your checking account balance._

He almost starts to panic when it takes her five, ten, fifteen minutes to respond, but then he sees her answer. _Did you do that???_

Now he's got her attention. Hux rises and smoothes the creases out of his warmup pants. _It's not the only thing I've done. Come to my trailer. I promise you won't be sorry._

Then, in a blissful panic of anticipation, he throws open a bedroom cupboard. If he's lucky - and he feels like he might be - this will call for his finest satin sheets. He swiftly changes the bed, and then sits down with his phone and opens Kayak. A quick search reveals two open seats on a flight to Nassau. He puts a hold on them, and then sits down to await his Glorious Queen.

**XOXOXOX**

Christie Phasma logs out of and back into her bank account twice, but the balance is the same. $11,711.21, which is ten thousand bucks more than she had this morning.

Apparently, Brendan Hux, calculating even in desperation, has done a thing. And while her pragmatic self wants to just continue with her plans to leave the Takodana Renaissance Faire for more profitable pastures, and see if the money remains where it is...she would be lying to herself if she believed she didn't want to know what his explanation would be. And how he would look while making it. She's betting his hair is a mess, his color hectic, and he'll be having to take calming breaths in between sentences in order to make sense. That will be very worth watching.

She doesn't consider staying dressed up. Her black cocktail frock and heels have served their purpose for the night and she would rather be comfortable for this, so she changes into shorts and a white tank, throwing a button-down over it at the last minute because she doesn't want to give a vibe of being interested in break-up sex. Or make-up sex.

She might be interested. But she'd rather keep that to herself at the moment.

She doesn't bother to knock on his trailer door. "Brendan, I'm here," she announces, before turning the knob and letting herself in.

He jumps to his feet as she enters, looking as manic as expected, but not as panicked. He smiles at her. "Christie. Thank you for coming." He gestures to the sofa, upon which, inexplicably, Poe Dameron's handicapped corgi is perched at one end.

"You wanted to tell me you're dog-sitting?" she asks, crossing her arms. "Maybe you could skip that part as you explain, because I don't care. I'd rather you start with why there was an extra ten grand in my bank account."

Hux smiles beatifically. "I did that. It was my pleasure."

She rolls her eyes. "I _know_ you did it, idiot. You're managing a highly unregulated business where thousands of dollars change hands every day. I always figured you were on the take."

Hux's expression shifts into something a little calculating, a little defensive. The two seem like they couldn't share space on the same features, but the look is somehow classic Hux. "I've managed this faire better than any of my predecessors, including its owner. Increased profits, decreased debt, more efficient practices." He shrugs, leaning against his desk. "If I've used some unconventional methods, or stashed some funds away for a rainy day, well, that's just good business."

"I don't want to get arrested as an accessory to whatever it is you've done, Brendan. I've finally figured out a good way to get out of this place and further my career, and you're not going to ruin it with histrionics or white collar crime."

Hux pushes away from the desk with a jerk, inserting himself into her personal space in a way that he would normally not do in casual conversation. "I assure you, no one can trace that deposit. Or, rather, if they were to trace it, it would be attributed to a bonus paid to you after your contract was renegotiated, retroactive to...how many years have you been working here, again?"

This just keeps getting stranger. "This is my fifth."

"So, exactly. $2000 per season, paid out as if we had booked on your original terms five years ago. Because, as you remember, we rejected the bonus clause, and at that time, you agreed."

Phasma can recall it well. Hux had gotten her to agree to that after allowing her to peg him unmercifully for what seemed like hours. She would never forget the sound of his agonized, orgasmic wails. He'd been hoarse for days afterward.

She shook her head. "If you're paying me now in an effort to keep me here, then you should know better. I can't have the career I want here, and I'm not going to be your kept woman." She steps away from him. "Take the money back or leave it there, I don't care. But I'm gone."

"I understand that. It's your money, so you can keep it."

His words shock her into stopping with her fingers already on the door handle. She already has this worked out for herself, that the dalliance with Hux was a dead end. It happens. But somehow she has to listen, if not out of sentimentality, out of pragmatism. The Hux who's talking is the businessman, the negotiator, the professional. The one who gets shit done.

"The money's yours," he repeats. "If you want to take it and go create your unholy alliance with Kylo Ren, if that's what you really want, then you should do that. I've only ever wanted for you to be happy."

"Being successful and creatively fulfilled makes me happy, Brendan. I can't have those things here." She says it without vitriol. "I'm an ambitious person, I've never made any secret of that. It has nothing to do with what was between us. I thought you knew that."

His face falls, and she sees the pale fan of his lashes against his cheek. "I...well. I had never told you how I feel before. If I could go back and change the circumstances, I would, but it doesn't change the sentiment."

She is unsure of how to respond, so she remains silent. He takes it as a cue to continue.

"I want to propose a more significant partnership to you. With the funds I have set aside - from my being 'on the take', as you so cinematically called it, we could really build a career for you. With me as your manager, of course, we could hire a personal staff, a publicist, whatever trainers or assistants or stylists you deem necessary. A PR firm, even. Get you the exposure that will start bringing in A-list work. Vancouver, first, then LA." His thin lips curl into a smile, somehow both hopeful and self-satisfied. "After an extended vacation in the Caribbean, of course. To rejuvenate ourselves."

The practical side of Phasma's brain immediately starts berating her for even letting him present his entire proposal. A scheme that starts with embezzlement and turns into what is probably an international incident is not something she should even be sharing a room with. Even the corgi regarding her with his big brown eyes looks skeptical. If he could talk, she suspects he would give a very low opinion of this plan.

And yet. "That is a ridiculous plan. First, they'd know it was us as soon as we turned up missing."

Hux shakes his head. "Actually, no. The account I'm planning on emptying is completely hidden. Not only are the funds that went into it all off the books, it's not even in the company's name. Or my name. And the transfers go through two shell companies before they go into the main one. So..." he spreads his hands. "You don't have to worry about that."

"I've never broken a contract in my life," Phasma counters. It's true. She's honorable, to her own admittedly amoral standards, and she doesn't plan to stop now.

"You wouldn't be, though! You've already met the standard you signed under this season, and you're welcome to walk at any time. That's all we'd be doing."

"And you? They're not going to wonder why the faire's business manager suddenly left as well?"

Hux's smile wobbles a little. "Christie," he says softly, and she can't help but close her eyes because what is happening seems to be happening against her will, and yet totally in answer to the unspoken weak-willed desires of her heart.

"If you're gone, and I'm gone, nobody here would suspect that it was for any other reason that you heard what I said to you tonight, and finally took me at my word. And that we decided to run away together. They might not like it, but they're not going to see anything strange behind it." He rubs his ear self-consciously. "And they'd be crazy not to be so jealous of me. Because I'd leave with you even if it _did_ carry the risk of winding me up in federal prison."

"Which you're saying it doesn't."

He shakes his head. "The season will be almost over by the time they realize the faire is really in financial trouble. And while they might suspect, nobody will be able to prove I ever did anything illegal." His voice drops even lower. "Please say yes."

Her head is swimming as she cuts her eyes towards the bed. To have Hux and her career? Why wouldn't she do that? Why wouldn't she? Because no matter how far she might ascend without him, she would always be aware of missing something. She doesn't have to be a sappy, sentimental twat to know that she doesn't want to wake up five, ten years from now, paralyzed with regret.

And Hux has always been amazingly perceptive - it's a trait often found in sensitive, submissive types, and she can't be happier about it - he takes her face in his hands and kisses her deep and slow. Like she hung the moon, like she’s the center of his entire universe. When he pulls back, he gives her a confident, heated look before leading her to the bed. Phasma shivers as Hux pushes her onto the fresh satin sheets and presses his slim body atop her. He gently, but firmly, pins her wrists above her head. Phasma stares up into his pale eyes, unwillingly captivated by the tenderness displayed, and fully realizes in this moment that she is determined to follow this mad course through to its end.

"We have maybe an hour," Hux whispers against her neck, causing the tiniest of moans to escape her lips. "I suggest we make one more memory of this abysmal place before we leave it forever."

 

**XOXOXOX**

Thursday morning Poe is tired as hell, but not hungover, and goes about his early morning routine of harnessing BB8 into his wheelie-cart, getting coffee and biscuits from his mother, and helping his father with the morning chores. For two hours, Poe feeds, milks, and mucks, spirits buoyed by memories of his conversation with Finn last night. Of his success. Of the promise of a chance to make something more with the young man. He whistles all the way back to the house where his mother has a full breakfast waiting. 

Sitting at the kitchen table, sipping more coffee and slowly chewing his bacon, Poe is absently watching the footage from the mini-snake cam and microphone- salvaged from a neighbor’s garage sale- recently mounted on BB8’s wheelie cart. He brushes crumbs from the laptop keyboard and fast forwards through yesterday morning, yesterday afternoon, and the previous early evening. Most of the film consists of Poe’s feet, grass, and Leia’s cat. Occasionally a pair of feet appears that Poe can’t recognize, but nothing bad happens, so he dismisses it as an anomaly. Once he passes 7p.m. Poe can’t pick out individual footwear from the speeding blur of boots, sandals, and fancy hems that fill the screen. 

Poe presses the button and returns to normal playback, checking the sound. It’s a bit fuzzy, a lot of background noise, and he can just make out the hoopla during the bouquet toss. 

“ _They are vicious!_ ” Finn’s voice, close to the mic. A dark hand glides across the bottom of the screen and there’s a streak of dancing colors flying downward before the view consists of a low-angle shot of Finn’s face. “ _Why don’t they just put them in a vase like normal people?_ ” 

“ Is that the famous Finn speaking?” Poe’s father asks, craning his neck to watch. “ He the reason you’ve got that goofy grin on your face this morning?” Kes Dameron joyfully teases his son. 

Poe shrugs, warming under the scrutiny. “ I have been pretty obvious, haven’t I?” He fast forwards through various people feeding and petting the corgi. 

“ Your phone is full of pictures of him and that lovely girl, Rey.” Shara Bey helps herself to more scrambled eggs, grinning mischievously. “ Almost as many as you have of BB8.” She rubs the dog’s head with her toes. “ When are you going to invite them over? Finn sounds absolutely adorable and I’d love to meet the girl who punched bratty Ben Solo in the nose.” 

Poe hits play and doesn’t mention the tentative new dynamics between Princess KickAss and Master of the Knights of Ren. No reason to crush his mother’s dream. Yet. Besides, she’s brought up another important point. “ Actually, now that you mention it I asked Finn... is that Hux?” Poe’s line of thought is instantly snapped as a familiar voice creaks through the speakers. He taps the volume all the way up. If Hux has done _anything_ to BB8, Poe is going to be up for murder charges. 

_"Shoo. Get out of here."_

“ What the hell?” Poe adjusts the lighting, desperately trying to get a clearer picture. The camera wasn’t made for nighttime adventures and only darkness with a few darker blobs can be seen on the screen. 

_"She doesn't love me, little dog. My Queen has cast me away."_

“ Oh my god…” Poe breathes out. He can’t possibly be hearing this right.

Shara frowns. “ I think he’s crying.” 

“ We shouldn’t be watching this.” Kes adds.

But no one moves away from the audial trainwreck. Poe listens to Hux’s tearful lamentations and can’t help but feel bad for the guy. Hux is a mercenary little shit who’d sell out his own mother if it meant furthering his career, but, Christ, the man is absolutely shattered over that Amazon, Phasma. _And now every time I see her all I’m gonna be thinking is,_ my queen _, ugh._ Poe’s skin crawls, a shiver running through his limbs. 

All three stare, transfixed on the screen as bits and pieces of Hux and his trailer come into view, as the redhead continues his one-sided conversation with the ever-sympathetic corgi. Poe is still getting over Hux _helping_ BB8 into his trailer- he misses a lot of Hux’s accounting spiel- until he hears, _"And this is where I've been depositing_ my _profits.”_ And then Poe is all ears once again. 

“ Is he serious?” Shara asks, watching the screen over the rim of her coffee mug. “ About embezzling from the faire?”

Kes seems just as skeptical. “ Maybe he’s just bullshitting to let off steam, ya know? I mean, he is talking to a dog.” He cringes at the sight of the cereal bowl. “ And Poe, you’ve got get people to stop feeding all that crap to BB8. I know they mean well, but it’s not good for him.” 

“ I will.” Poe wants to believe what his father says about Hux just venting. He’s had some crazy conversations with BB8 in the past. Just getting stuff off his chest, letting wild thoughts verbally run through their natural disastrous course in order to clear his mind for more constructive ideas. But Hux is a different breed of talker, altogether. Poe’s never known the man to needlessly bullshit and all his talk about the faire’s finances is making him uneasy. 

And then Phasma walks in. And Poe’s doubts are confirmed as he listens to their wary dance of words that ends in the bedroom.

_"I suggest we make one more memory of this abysmal place before we leave it forever."  
_

“ Oh shit.” Poe stares wide eyed at the blurry figures fucking on the screen. In the back of his mind, he’s wondering when his pet became such a pervert. The rest of Poe’s thoughts are otherwise occupied by a bubbling panic.” Oh shit!” He fumbles his phone from the leg pocket of his cargo shorts, rapidly swiping through his contacts for Leia’s number. “ Motherfucking shit!” Poe jumps from the table, grabs his keys and wallet from the basket by the back door.

His parents are still watching the laptop.

“ Wow.” Kes tilts his head for a better angle.

“ Wow is right.” Shara arches a brow. “ Gives me all sorts of ideas.”

Poe doesn’t even respond as he sweeps up the laptop and runs out to his truck. Leia is taking forever to pick up her phone. He gets voicemail after two more rings. “ Shit! Leia, I’m on my way over there but I need you to check to see if Hux or Phasma are still there. If they are then stop them any way you can! I’m calling Finn, so grab him first! I’ll be right there!” He’s slamming the cab door and keying the ignition as he thumbs Finn’s digits onto his screen. Poe barely remembers to buckle up before taking his foot off the brake.

Finn answers almost immediately, voice sleep rough. “ _Mhmm… hello?_ ” 

Gods, Finn sounds utterly adorable, but Poe doesn’t have time to squee over him. “ Finn, I think Hux and Phasma just bailed with all the faire’s money.” He whips out of the drive and onto the highway. Hopefully he won’t be pulled over for speeding between here and Takodana. 

_“ Wh-what’s wrong?”_ Confused, but more awake, Finn breathes heavily into the phone. _“ Are you okay?”_

“ Yeah, I’m okay, buddy.” Despite the negative stormcloud brewing inside his head, a genuine warmth explodes in his heart at Finn’s concern. Poe reigns it in, but the smile lingers on his face. “ Listen, I’m going to call Leia again, I got voicemail before, but I need you to wake up Oscar’s crew and get Leia and go check out Hux’s trailer and the KoS trailer, okay? Keep them from leaving if they haven’t already, but I have a bad feeling that we’re going to be too late.” 

_“ Get Oscar’s crew, get Leia, get Hux and Phamsa. Got it.”_ Finn repeats back.

“ I’ll be there in five minutes. Be careful.” 

_“ You, too.”_

Poe ends the call a split second after Finn’s end cuts off. They’re too late, he’s almost one hundred percent positive of that, and all this rushing around is most likely pointless. He redials Leia’s number and impatiently passes a slow moving tractor; the driver makes an angry gesture and Poe is certain he’s just pissed off their neighbor, Mrs. Fisher. He’ll apologize later. 

Leia’s voice finally appears. _“ What’s up, Poe?”_ Just as rough as Finn’s, but more coherent.

“ Remember that thing we used to joke about all the time, General?” Poe swerves around a pothole. 

_“ … Shit.”_

“ My thoughts exactly.” 

 

_tbc_


	9. Cry Havoc and Put Your Kingdom Up For Sale

Leia doesn’t bother with a bra. 

 

She pulls on an airbrushed t-shirt - Summer of ‘77- and denim cutoffs before half-assing a sloppy bun on the top of her head. Tooka nearly trips her on the stairs because cats, and Leia curses long and loud. It’s satisfying for a very brief moment. Then she’s imagining a foreclosed sign on the faire gates and she’s shoving her feet into flip-flops, snatching up her keys, and jogging out the door. 

 

Yes, she and Poe have two inside jokes that aren’t actually jokes. More like highly probable predictions they always hoped never came true. The first, is that Phasma will eventually kill someone. The second, older expectation of calamity is Hux emptying the accounts and leaving the faire in the lurch. Leia had known almost immediately which scenario Poe was calling her for, because it would take months for a body to turn up in the case of the former situation. 

 

Ninety-nine percent of Leia’s emotions are currently tied into a knot of stomach churning anxiety. This can’t be happening, there’s been some sort of mistake, a misunderstanding. They’ll find Hux and Phasma rutting in the iron maiden and use Poe’s video to blackmail them into not ripping off the faire and everything can go back to how it was. The majority of Leia’s brain believes this to be the best outcome. 

 

That last pesky percent wants it all to be true. Leia can’t ignore the tiny sliver of hope that Hux and Phasma are on a plane en route to their evil lair on a remote mountain cliff or the center of a volcano. She can’t deny a spark of relief at the thought of not having to deal with the constant stress of faire life. Of being responsible for a hundred lives that are in turn responsible for others and Leia loves them all but it’s so goddamn hard! 

 

She’s halfway down the thin strip of grass that edges the pond- ain’t nobody got time for the ferry today- when she spots Finn running toward the mud show corner of the staff campground. Leia watches the young man skid to a halt in the grass outside Oscar’s purple Airstream and knock frantically on the door. Leia can’t hear it; she supposes Finn is trying not to wake Daisy and Amelia.

 

Oscar is stepping down just as Leia reaches their corner, Daisy kissing his cheek and telling him to be careful before closing the door. Leia heads straight to John and Adam’s elaborate patchwork of wooden pallets, 8-person tent, and mismatched tarps directly across from the Airstream. She rapidly runs the door zip up and down, creating one of the most annoying noises on earth, but one assured to alert the young men and any possible guests inside. “ John! Adam!” Leia hisses through the mesh. “ Get decent. We need you for a minute.” 

 

A groan. A thump. Then John comes crawling to the door, eyes still half-closed. “ Adam...Adam!” He throws a shoe into the opposite side of the tent. 

 

There’s a startled yelp and Adam literally rolls out from under the tacky printed sheet partitioning off his sleeping area. “ Shit! Oh, what’s up, General?” He gets to his hands and knees and blearily searches through the pile of discarded clothes in the middle of the tent for something to cover his bare ass. 

 

It’s like a freaking daycare. Leia wants to roll her eyes but she’s too tense. She leans away from the door flap and lets the two men exit, Adam’s loose shorts riding so low she can see the bush at the end of his treasure trail. John is sporting a more modest pair of cut-off sweatpants. Adam is shoving his feet into a pair of laceless hi-tops when he catches sight of Finn and Oscar. His brows knit together in confusion. “Why are we forming a brute squad?” 

 

Leia doesn’t want to go into details, doesn’t want to cause a panic when she can barely contain her own. “ We’re looking for Hux and Phasma and we need to be able to hold onto them if we do find them.” 

 

“ Cool.” John stretches his arms above his head, yawning wide.

 

It’s comforting in a way, to know these boys are ready to just go along with her slapdash explanation without asking any questions. Leia is proud of earning that kind of trust. She heads toward the row of single-wides lined up on the other side of her pond. Her muscle men follow quietly in her wake, Finn right at her elbow like a guard dog. They pass the Knights of Ren trailer and Kylo’s RV, the Red Tent trailer with its brightly colored mural of nymphs and Greek goddesses, and the first of two Knights of the Storm trailers. The second is Phasma’s official living quarters. Leia holds a hand up to halt her posse, turns the corner and knocks on the scratched black door. If the KoS aren’t involved- and Leia doubts they were invited on the Bonnie & Clyde escapade- then she wants to keep them blissfully ignorant for a while longer. 

 

The door opens and Nelson sticks his disheveled red head into the humid morning air. “ Ma’am?” 

 

Well, at least he’s polite. “ Could you get Phasma for me, please?” Leia is willing to return the respect, for the moment.

 

Nelson rubs his eyes and leans into the trailer. He shakes his head, turning back to Leia. “ Her bunk is empty. Must’ve stayed the night with Mr. Hux, ma’am. “

 

“ Thanks, Timothy. Sorry to wake you up.” Leia gives him a wave and apologetic smile, stepping down from the weather-stained deck into the short grass. She pulls a face when she reaches the others and they quick march across the campground to the faire gates. 

 

Poe’s pickup truck comes barreling straight through the empty parking lot, right up to the gates. He jumps out with a laptop and Leia does not miss the little sigh of relief from Finn at her side. Well, well… Leia puts romantical thoughts aside and meets Poe at the gatehouse staff door, key in hand. Except the door is unlocked and hanging open. 

 

“ Didn’t even bother to lock it behind them, “ Poe growls before swinging the door open wide and striding through. “ Anyone could’ve walked in here last night. Goddammit!” 

 

Leia manages a small smile as Finn steps past her and comes up beside Poe. She follows them, buffered front and back, and feels the the tiniest bit of wistful sadness. If things were different, her son would be the one here, watching over her protectively. That’s another thought she doesn’t have time for and Leia wills it into the back of her mind. 

 

They walk through the leftovers of last night’s merriment, a previous agreement in place that everyone will meet at 2 this afternoon to finish cleaning up. Her retinue enters the space between the torture museum and Hux’s trailer, a bare alley of worn grass and extraneous storage. And a cloud of flies swarming over a puddle of vomit. Everyone is careful to sidestep the sick. “ If it’s locked, I don’t have a key.” Leia mentions as Poe approaches the door. 

 

Poe tries the knob and shakes his head. Oscar steps up. “ Allow me.” Poe steps back and Oscar squares off against the barrier. One swift booted kick and the door breaks away from the frame, falling inside. Poe, Finn, and Oscar enter the trailer and Leia waits outside with John and Adam. She’s rash, upon occasion, but she’s not stupid. 

 

After a moment, Oscar comes back, bending down to toss the remains of the door out into the yard before making way for Leia. “ All clear.” 

 

“ Thanks, Oscar. I’m sorry to have gotten you boys up so early for nothing.” Leia pats him on the arm. She motions for Oscar to join her in the yard with the other two. “ Okay, this is where it gets complicated. I need all of you to swear not to say _anything_ to _anyone_.” She gives them her I Will Cut You face so they know she means business. “ We don’t know exactly what’s going on and I don’t want anyone to panic. Understand?” 

 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

 

“ Absolutely.” 

 

“ Scouts honor, General.” 

 

Leia nods at each in turn, taking in their serious expressions. She trusts them, and they deserve a reward. “ I’ll bring brownies and absinthe to your campsite once I’m done with this mess.” 

 

All three grin and head back toward the main faire grounds. “ We’ll put up the Do Not Disturb sign, so no one will be the wiser,” Oscar assures her as they disappear around the building and out of her sight. Leia hears the drag and click of the antique iron gate Hux uses- used- to block access to his dark little corner. No one will be coming back here to investigate.

 

When Leia steps inside the trailer, the first thing she notices is that the A/C is not running. The second thing she notices is that Poe and Finn are both bent over Hux’s desk, hands nearly touching on the smooth surface, as they stare avidly at what Poe has playing on his laptop. 

 

“ Oh my God, is he crying?” Finn’s eyes go wide.

 

“ Shit, I went back too far.” Poe messes with the controls. 

 

Leia wanders about the trailer, listening to the commentary at the desk, mildly surprised by the trailer’s neatness. Other than the splintered door frame, the interior looks normal. She half-expected things to be thrown about, papers and clothes and personal items scattered around in the urgency of their exit. But everything looks the same. The laptop is missing, of course, and she’s certain the various cupboards are empty or nearly so, but nothing is out of place. Not a single drawer left open. Nothing knocked over in haste. It’s very Hux-like, Leia has to admit. 

 

“ Okay, got it up now, General,” Poe informs her. 

 

Both boys offer the uncomfortable looking desk chair and Leia happily accepts it. It might be the only furnishing not contaminated by semen. She settles herself as best she can in the hard seat and watches the grainy footage.

 

By the time the nefarious pair are heading into the bedroom, Leia feels decidedly ill. She’d always suspected the embezzling. Phasma’s comment about the faire’s lack of a regulatory system is right on the money. Pun most definitely intended. But no one ever showed up at Leia’s door, no ominous phone calls were received, no concrete evidence presented itself to let her know that the faire was consistently losing money. Hux had been very, very careful. Leia would expect no less from the conniving little weasel. 

 

And she had indeed heard a few people discussing a rather tense scene between Phasma and Hux at the reception last night. Leia hadn’t really paid attention and assumed by _tense_ they meant _aggressively sexual_. And she knew, one day, that Phasma would want to go on to bigger and better things and that Hux would eventually be promoted out of this humiliating position and they would leave Leia; most likely with very little advance notice. 

 

But this. _This_. Despite the years of half-joking, it’s still a shock.

 

Poe exits the viewer and Leia stares at her reflection in the dark screen. Both boys are still behind her. She can see Finn clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. Poe puts his hand on her shoulder, attempting to comfort her. Leia sucks in a deep breath and stands. “ Alright. We need to know just how bad it is.”

 

“ We’ll search the trailer, see what’s left behind.” Poe is already scanning the interior. “ Maybe enough to get started at least.” 

 

Leia nods and is about to comment on the likelihood of finding anything, when Finn bursts out with, “ Aren’t we going after them? Make them give the money back?!” 

 

“ Easy, buddy.” Poe gives a rueful, but understanding, smile. “ There’s not much point, now.” 

 

Finn isn’t mollified. “ But we have it on tape- computer- whatever! We have proof!” 

 

Leia empathizes with his indignation, his passionate response to the injustice. But, like Poe, she knows better. “ It won’t matter. They’re long gone and Hux is smart. Too smart to be caught.” 

 

Finn starts again, but Poe gently squeezes his arm above the elbow. “ By the time the authorities catch them and the whole legal process runs its course this place will be history and Leia won’t see a penny the whole time. Probably not after, either.” 

 

Leia flinches. It’s true, but it hurts to hear it. “ All the more reason to start damage control now. I’m going to call CP. He’s usually up early and he was an accountant before he retired.” She pulls her phone out, but looks back up before dialing. “ Let’s keep this as quiet as possible until we know more. Agreed?”

 

“ Yes, ma’am,” they reply in unison.

 

She dials CP and Poe and Finn begin pulling open the filing cabinets. Leia suspects the half a pack of cigarettes in her back pocket is not going to last long. 

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

Leia has exactly three and a half cigarettes left. She is currently sucking on the half, absently tapping ash onto the pristine carpet and getting a modicum of satisfaction out of dirtying Hux’s trailer. 

 

Finn and Poe are sitting on the floor around the big desk, sorting papers from the filing cabinets into piles for CP, who is sitting behind the desk with his laptop, adding machine, and everything Leia keeps for her own records brought from her house. The normally loquacious man has been eerily quiet for the last two hours, asking only for specific documents or clarification when needed. His concentration is obviously being tested by sketchy invoices and piecemeal information. 

 

Leia paces slowly back and forth in front of the black couch, alternating drags of nicotine with biting her thumbnail. Finn has poured her two glasses of expensive bottled water from Hux’s mini-fridge and Poe regularly suggests she sit down and rest. She sips the water and perches on the edge of the square couch for a few seconds and then resumes her pacing. 

 

Because she doesn’t know what the hell to do next. 

 

“ You weren’t at the house and you didn’t answer the phone so- What happened?” 

 

Leia jerks around to face the figure in the doorway. Han. “ How did you get in here?”

 

“ Chewie opened the gate. What’s going on?” Han steps inside and surveys the organized chaos, Chewie ducking to enter right behind him. 

 

“ That gate was locked.” Leia can feel the anger rising, which isn’t fair to Han; he’s just being his usual pushy self. She sucks a bit harder on her cigarette. She’s aware of Finn and Poe avoiding eye contact at all costs and CP easily blocking them out- this routine is old hat for him. 

 

“ Answer me, Leia.” Irritation edges Han’s voice. “ What happened?”

 

“ I was stupid enough to think I could keep this faire running past its time.” 

 

“ Leia, you’ve done more than- ”

 

“ Don’t do that.” She turns away from him, then averts her gaze from the rumpled sheets on the bed visible from the open door. 

 

“ I’m just trying to help.” Han’s irritation is bleeding over into frustration.

 

“ When has _that_ ever helped?” Then, before he can reply, “ And don’t say the Deathstar contract debacle; you’ve been milking that for 30 years.” There’s only the butt left and Leia grinds it out on a rather expensive looking paperweight on the desk. She crosses her arms over her chest again. Leia doesn’t want to be pissed, even with Han. This isn’t his fault, but his being here now is not good for her emotional stability. “ We’re handling it.”

 

“ You’re handling _what_?!” Han explodes. 

 

“ Phasmastruckantraileraregone.” Chewie interjects, his big hand tousling his friend’s gray hair and of course Han tries to duck under it. “ Huxescartoo.” 

 

Leia hadn’t even noticed, she’d been so focused on the contents of the business office/trailer. 

 

That seems to deflate Han; he breathes out a long sigh and hooks his thumbs in his belt. Scanning the tableaux again, realization sweeps across his face. “They took the money, too.” 

 

“ Just like Billy Joe and Bobbie Sue, “ Poe quips from the floor.

 

Finn looks confused. “ Has this happened before?”

 

Poe’s caught, surprised, then chuckles, “ We’ve got to work on your musical history.” He shakes his head and hands another stack of papers to CP. 

 

Great, now that song’s stuck in her head. Leia takes a sip of water, swishing it around with her tongue. She wants another cigarette. She wants Han to leave. She wants to go back to bed and let someone else deal with this catastrophe. 

 

Chewie picks his way through the paperwork and settles himself behind CP, the two men quietly discussing the numbers, or lack thereof. Han is behind her; Leia can smell his aftershave. “ What do you want to do?” His voice is soft and calm. It just grates on Leia’s nerves even more.

 

“ I don’t know. Strike that. I want a drink, but the bastard took all the good stuff.” Leia pulls another cigarette out of the pack and taps it against her palm. “ We’re trying to figure out what they took, what’s been paid, and if we have enough to finish the season.” She pulls out a scratched green Bic and lights the cig, eyes focused on the flame for its short existence. Leia inhales before continuing, “ I’m trying not to think any further than that.” 

 

“ Good plan.” Han huffs a sigh, still casting his gaze across the sea of papers as though trying to find somewhere to start. “ Have you called Luke, yet?” 

 

“ No.”

 

“ Why not?”

 

“ Because.” Leia leaves it there and goes back to pacing. She hasn’t called Luke for the same reason she didn’t call Han. It’s none of their business and she doesn’t want them in her way while she struggles through this new difficulty. “ If you really want to help, go check the rest of the grounds to see if they’ve taken anything else. You should be out of Kylo’s sight as long as you stay away from the staff campground.” 

 

“ Done.” Han gives a little wave and heads out.

 

That was way too easy. Leia is suspicious, pausing near the broken door, debating whether or not she should follow Han and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. 

 

“ Miss Leia, do you have any tax information for 2013?” CP calls from the desk, thick eye-glasses never leaving his laptop. Beside him, Chewie has borrowed Poe’s laptop and is working through a stack of maintenance invoices. 

 

“ I… I think so.” Leia pivots and gives her thoughts over to W-2’s and eligible deductions. 

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

Rey's dreams are a watercolor patchwork of dancing and sword-fighting. The wind blows leaves and papers all around her, and her gaze is drawn to a skinny, black-haired child hunched at one of the tables, coloring furiously.

 

Kylo tips her chin up with his fingers. "I'm right here," he whispers, but she still looks over his shoulder as he leans in…

 

She wakens with a jolt at sunrise. She's not hungover to justify going back to sleep, so she hangs one leg over the edge of the bunk until it slowly pulls the rest of her down to follow. Landing quietly on bare feet, she takes one look at Finn with his blanket wrapped around him like a burrito before grabbing her Adidas and sliding out the door.

 

Among other laundry items, clean shorts and a sports bra hang on a hasty clothesline strung between the camper and a tree, so she maneuvers her way into them without taking off her t-shirt. Then she laces her shoes tight, grabs her Nalgene bottle and heads off down the path at a jog.

 

It takes a little longer than she's used to for her muscles to start to warm, so she chugs water and takes deep, even breaths. Previous experiences running on the narrow and twisty Route 68 have been a little perilous, so she opts instead for the gravel road leading all around the campground and faire itself and loops it a couple of times. The rhythmic crunch of gravel picks up speed under her feet, and she feels her breathing speed up to match her longer, faster strides.

 

Running is good for thinking, and of course, after that dream, she manages to think about Kylo. The way he seems so angrily focused on something all the time, and the way little glimmers of a different person show through unexpectedly. Like when he's surprised, or drunk, apparently.

 

The vibe she gets from him, like she's _sure_ that if she really made a move, her feelings would be reciprocated, possibly with a ferocity she's not prepared to deal with. Or maybe she is. Maybe she really wants to deal with an intense sexual relationship right now. The kind where when you're not fucking each other into oblivion, you're screaming at each other and throwing things or sobbing in despair. Okay, no, she's not up for that at all. If only he seemed capable of dialing himself down a few notches, or like, twenty.

 

She trips over a root that almost sends her sprawling and she wonders why the hell she is even thinking about him that way when she's not even sure he'd be a fantastic lay. Physically her type, yes. Definitely an overachiever, like he would put some time and effort in, that's for sure. But less than communicative, and prone to drama and rage? No no no no. No dick is worth that. She leaps over another root. _Stop thinking about Kylo's dick already!_

 

Running faster forces her to focus on her surroundings: the uneven ground, the cottonwood fluff wafting through the rapidly heating air, the direly hungover people starting to stir all around the campground and faire proper. The brisk run over uneven terrain is exactly what she needs to clear the cobwebs out of her head and the residual unmetabolized alcohol out of her bloodstream, but from the looks of things, most of the faire staff should just slam some Gatorade and go back to bed immediately if any of them are going to be useful for the cooperative post-wedding cleanup planned for later that day.

　

From the higher ground at the far end of the faire's grounds she can see a single individual who stands out from the general hapless clumsiness of those around him. At first, watching him run through breathing and movement exercises at the edge of the Commons, she is reminded of Kylo, but it’s easy to see that not only are the man's movements much more flowing and meditative, he is closer to her own height than Kylo's six-feet-plus.

　

She slows to a jog as she gets closer. The bells of familiarity continue to chime in her head as she notes his sandy hair and grey beard, both in need of a trim. The man is barefoot, dressed in baggy, rolled-up, threadbare khakis and a stained t-shirt that she recognizes immediately because she has one just like it, if cleaner and less threadbare.

　

"Luke? Master Luke?" She slows to a walk and is embarrassed at the plaintive sound of her voice as she uses the honorific. She'd picked it up somewhere along the Jedi Exile tour, among the heads and hippies who liked to hang with the philosophical old roadie.

　

He pauses in an almost impossible pose, balanced on one leg with the other wrapped around it and his arms similarly entwined. "Good morning, Rey," he greets her. His face is pensive, as if she has interrupted him in a period of deep thought. "It looks like you've found me."

　

"I didn't realize I was looking," she answers almost automatically.

　

"Well." He unwinds from his pretzel-like pose gracefully. "Maybe you're looking for something, and I just happened to be here." He finally gives her a ghost of a smile. "You're up earlier than most."

　

Rey nods. "Couldn't sleep anymore, and I get bitched at if I miss a day of training," she says, Kylo's haughty face in her mind. She banishes him with an impatient tug on her shirt as she wipes sweat off her forehead.

　

Luke only nods, and she finds herself flowing into the next pose with him, much as she would have during one of his sunrise sessions on tour. They practice in silence for the next several minutes, and she feels her heartbeat and breathing slow as she draws her focus inward.

　

Until she realizes Luke is talking again. "What? I was kind of -"

　

He smiles again. "I probably shouldn't talk while you're concentrating. But I just mentioned that I heard you're performing with the Knights of Ren, at least for a while."

　

Rey rolls her shoulders up and back, takes a deep breath and releases it along with a measure of tension. "For a while, yeah. Until Kylo Ren decides he hates me enough to shitcan me. Let's just said I don't hear a whole lot of encouragement while I'm training with him." She tilts her head until she hears a satisfying joint crack. "The other guys are nice enough. I guess it's going okay, for now. And it's better than playing the damsel in distress."

　

"No, I'd guess you wouldn't enjoy that very much," Luke replies, moving his arms and torso like a cresting wave as she mirrors him. "I'd also guess that my nephew doesn't hate you. He's always had a special gift for confusing intense feelings."

　

It takes a moment for Luke's words to register, and Rey can't maintain her balance. She puts a hand on the ground to avoid tumbling out of the pose Luke is holding easily. "Kylo is your nephew?" she asks, incredulous. "So, if Leia and Han are his parents, then you're..." she stares avidly at his profile, and it strikes her where she's seen it before, even if there is very little other resemblance.

　

"Leia is my sister. My twin, if you can believe that," Luke says mildly, moving into a handstand as smoothly as another person might walk. "It's been awhile since we've seen each other, though."

　

Rey imagines she can hear regret in his tone, but it's hard to tell. "Did you guys have a fight, or..." she stops, realizing that she doesn't want to pry. If Leia's and Luke's and even Kylo's issues were easily explained, then she'd probably already know about them.

　

Luke is silent for awhile again and Rey is about to apologize for asking when he finally answers. "Not a fight, per se. But we've disagreed about some essential things for awhile, and we both made mistakes with Ben." The name is the first thing that obviously shake's Luke's serenity. "Not Ben, anymore, not for awhile, and some of that is my fault, I'll own that."

　

Rey wants him to keep talking, wants to ask more, but her intentions are put on hold when a high-pitched, electronic beeping sounds nearby.

　

Luke stands and picks up a little flip-phone that looks and sounds like it wants to go back and live peacefully in 2004. He regards it mournfully. "I will never get used to this thing," he says, almost to himself, before flipping it open.

　

Rey can hear a voice speaking on the other end, but not the words. Luke's face remains impassive as he listens, occasionally answering with a "mh-hm," or an "I see".

　

She looks around the Commons again, and realizes that there is definitely a significant uptick in activity around the faire. A couple of acrobats hustle towards the campgrounds, and she suddenly overhears two of the vendors in front of their shops. "...yeah, something's definitely up," the man says, as he starts to take down his striped awning. "We're not waiting around to find out -- heading over to set up at the Felucia renfaire. Greener pastures, man."

　

Rey looks back at Luke as he says, "Are you sure?"

　

Something is definitely not right, and the buzzing background noise has climbed several levels since she stopped to talk to Luke. And she's not sure who he's talking to now, but the expression on his face has progressed from calm to considerably less so. Still pretty peaceful, considering the source, but she doesn't like the way the lines around his mouth have deepened since he picked up his phone.

　

"I'm not sure...oh. Well. Yes, that's a good idea. And I don't need to find her, she's found me."

　

Rey's eyebrows shoot up as she gestures to herself. Now that she's been included in this conversation, someone had really better tell her what the hell is going on.

　

Luke nods. "I'll tell her. Yes. Thanks, Han. Thank you." He closes the phone.

　

"What happened?"

　

Luke regards her until she is ready to scream. His eyes have taken on a gleam she's never seen on him, but it's pretty much a permanent part of his sister's expression.

　

"Walk with me. I'll explain on the way."

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

Kylo has a really bad habit of watching people. He's done it since he was small, sneaking up to the attic with his binoculars (or, later, a telescope that was an ill-advised gift from his Uncle, that fucking hippie dumbass), turning his lens over the unwitting faire patrons and staff, watching them more closely than he'd feel comfortable doing in person, if he'd ever had the social inclination to engage them in conversation.

　

If he really thought about it, he might be able to acknowledge how weird it is, and how utterly dysfunctional, but at times like this, when he feels like fried death and smells like the party cup dregs still lying around from last night...at times like this, he's perversely happy about how fucked up it all seems. He's an asshole, and that means he gets to act like one.

　

He lights another Parliament (he doesn't normally smoke them, but whatever, somebody left them at the party and he wasn't feeling picky at the time) from the butt end of his current one, and lifts the binoculars to his eyes again. From his perch on top of his RV he's reasonably screened by overhanging foliage, but he can watch his target almost perfectly.

　

In this case, his target is Rey on her morning run. Frankly, he's glad she's not going out on Route 68 by herself anymore, after that incident with the old lady in the minivan. He's not feeling very honest with himself about the way he reacted when Rey told them about having to dive out of the way of the van as it rumbled off onto the shoulder and nearly hit her. He's not thinking about how he pretty much grabbed her and started taking detailed inventory of her scrapes and bruises until she yelled she was fine and punched him in the stomach. He had turned and walked away from her and didn't talk to her for two days, at which point they were both able to ignore the fact that it happened.

　

It had been all he could do not to sweep her into his arms in desperate, dramatic fashion, so that she could feel his heart hammering over the thought of her being hurt. Ugh. Fuck his heart. And his dick, which is the other part of him that is completely preoccupied with her.

　

Maybe they should just bone and get it over with? The thought raises the hair on his arms, not in a bad way, but in a let-me-think-of-all-the-depraved-shit-we-could-get-up-to kind of way. He'd totally be down with letting her take charge. Not that he's really even admitting that to himself, at this point.

　

Fuck.

　

The little mental detour means he's lost track of her running progress for a few minutes, and he sees her slowing down to talk to...oh, god. Of course. A Jedi Exile tour reunion. He leans over the side of the RV to spit in the grass.

　

After a few seconds of being irked about the presence of _Uncle_ Luke and the fact that his grizzled old presence is sharing the lens with Rey's sweaty, glowy presence, Kylo dials the knob to a higher level of magnification. They're doing some fucking new-agey Tai Chi / yoga combo that Luke probably invented, and talking, but half the time their heads are turned away and Kylo can't read their lips. Not much, anyhow, after he sees Rey's lips form his name.

 

Shit. He's shaking a little as he lets the binoculars drop. This is the last thing he needs, Rey talking to his former family members about god only knows what. He's pretty sure Leia doesn't go around giving out the details of his childhood - she's got as much to be ashamed about as he does, and God forbid anyone realize she's not the perfect leader or mother or person or whatever - but Luke is a bit of a wild card. He's honest, and every word that comes out of his mouth is designed to make you wonder, and think, and then start jumping to all sorts of conclusions about life and meaning and the type of bullshit you usually only hear when people are high as balls.

 

Luke is probably also more likely to be sentimental than Leia is. "Fuck, quit talking to her!" he practically yells.

 

"Hey. The hell are you doing up there?" Savion kind of rolls out of his camper looking a bit ragged. "Seriously, man. Women don't like a creeper."

 

"Eat me." Kylo is considering telling Savion to further mind his own business, when Savion points across the grounds towards some growing commotion in the general vicinity of the Knights of the Storm's compound. He turns his binoculars to watch as Savion climbs up next to him. Uninvited. Typical.

 

"Lemme see." Savion bops Kylo in the arm, and without really thinking, Kylo hands the binocs over, because he is intrigued. And unsettled.

 

"What's your mom doing over there? With Dameron and the Mud Show geeks?"

 

A voice pipes up from the ground. "Christ, what are you two doing? I’m too hungover for this shit." It’s Gianni, rubbing his eyes.

 

Kylo discerns a use for his Knights, one that will regain him his solitude and let him keep watching in peace. "Something's up. Go over there and find out."

 

Savion hops down, but Gianni is less amenable. "Not your servant, asshole."

 

Kylo fishes in his pocket and throws a crumpled twenty down. "Fine. Get one of those fucking Barmy Burritos you're always moaning about, while you're at it."

 

It’s fortunate that Gianni is easily sidetracked by food (and sex, but Kylo's only up for making use of the former in this instance). "Okay." He scoops up the bill and gives his sweatpants a tug before following Savion, both of them heading off towards the increasingly agitated group of people surrounding Kylo’s mother.

　

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

When Leia gets back to her house, she opens all the windows, because it's hot and stale inside and there's an algaeic smell wafting off the pond. Then she methodically starts laying out ingredients: butter, eggs, sugar, cocoa powder, flour, vanilla…

 

"Leia." Han's voice breaks through the numb - if brittle - upper layer of her calm. "What are you doing?"

 

"Brownies," she says decisively as she grabs a tin from a drawer and withdraws a baggie. "I promised Oscar brownies."

 

She can feel, if not see Han and Chewie exchanging looks over her head. For a few minutes they let her bustle about, melting butter in a heavy pan and breaking up a couple of fresh, piney buds into the bubbling yellow. This is the secret to ideal baked goodies - you cook the weed down until the butter is a light golden brown, all of the THC leached into the fatty goodness of it, and then strain out any leftover leafy seedy bits. Dark chocolate cocoa powder is strong enough to cover any residual astringent taste.

 

Eventually, she feels Han's hand on her arm, and she stops her stirring. "Oh, hell," she mutters, and leans against his shoulder.

 

"Oh, hell is right," Han replies as he tucks an arm around her. He somehow instinctively knows not to fully envelop her in an embrace, because she will literally dissolve into boneless despondency if he does that. And she can't let that happen. She can't just hide here and bake, either.

 

She has to let everybody know what's going on, and that she's going to figure out a way to haul their chestnuts out of the proverbial fire. Because these are her people. She's not going to let them down.

 

"I need to take a shower."

 

"Right."

 

"Just watch the butter, don't let it burn." She flaps a hand at them. "Chewie knows what to do."

 

He gives her a thumbs-up as she heads upstairs. In the shower her brain keeps working its way through the problem, gears moving less sluggishly as the hot water needles her skin and she loofahs maybe more vigorously than necessary.

 

By the numbers, she can meet payroll. But every scrap of income is going to need to go to pay their operating overhead. Which complicates things a bit because most of the contract players only get half their fee upon signing, and the other half at the close of the faire's season.

 

Potts has already agreed to fill in temporarily for Hux, and he won't be at the upcoming meeting, because he'll be crunching numbers for the next several hours. Fortunately, he has called for reinforcements - his accountant granddaughter is on her way from Indianapolis to help him sort things out for the next few days.

 

"Just find me enough money to pay everybody," Leia had told him, her desperation was writ large on her face.

 

"We'll have to, ahem, prioritize the payables," he'd replied with a tactful cough.

 

"I know. Put off paying whatever creditors you can for as long as you can." Too bad she was already sixty days out on some of the bills.

 

By the time she finishes her shower the hot water tank is empty and some of Leia's fortitude had returned. She looks over her stack of LPs, selects one, and turns _Rumors_ up to top volume on her old turntable.

 

Hair is not a priority so she twists into a messy bun again, but she makes an effort to dress a little more professionally than usual. She opts for dark jeans and (reasonably) comfortable cork wedges with a stylish black blazer over a Fleetwood Mac t-shirt. _Stevie Nicks give me strength today_.

 

And huge round sunglasses, because it's probably best to keep her eyes hidden while she tries to pull off being in control of this debacle. Makeup is an absolute fucking no.

 

Except for lipstick. She carefully smokes half a cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray on her dressing table, the filter rimmed in vivid red.

 

Han and Chewie stand there, mouths open, as she breezes by them and out the front door.

 

"Let's go get this over with."

 

**XOXOXOX**

 

Well, finally, it looks like this is happening. The Takodana Renaissance Festival is no more. Or at least that's what Kylo's expecting to hear during the hastily-convened staff meeting in the amphitheater today.

　

Gianni and Savion had returned to their campsite chattering like squirrels about some elaborate plot apparently orchestrated by Hux and Phasma, departing like spectres in the night with most of the faire's money, not before fucking grotesquely on every sturdy surface in Hux's trailer.

　

"Weren't you and her...?" Gianni makes a rude, universal gesture.

　

"Don't make me fucking kill you," Kylo snaps. "And no." He shudders. "Not in this, or any other universe."

　

"Phasma and Hux," Savion muses. "The Huxodus!" He grins, patently pleased with himself.

　

Kylo holds back a groan. "So what, the faire's closing, then?" Something rather unpleasant hits him, and his jaw clenches. Hux still owes him the payout on the rest of their contract. Kylo will hunt him down and eviscerate him. Over Phasma's cooling corpse.

　

"Chill, man. They're having a meeting for all the staff at noon. Said they're gonna let everybody know the deal."

　

So now Kylo is at the amphitheater as well, giving everyone in the vicinity the evil eye until they clear the way so he and the rest of the Knights can sit a little bit apart from everyone else. Kylo doesn't sit. He stands, arms crossed, and glowers.

　

This is how he sees Dameron arrive, with that kid Finn in tow, and a bunch of those losers they all hang with. Rey hangs behind them a little bit, walking with... Of course. Fucking Luke.

　

To Kylo's surprise, though, she breaks off from them, after a few words from Finn (who looks pointedly and threateningly at Kylo, a look he returns) she gives them all a little wave and starts climbing the bleachers. Towards Kylo.

　

"What's good, Rey?" Savion calls out. She bumps his shoulder congenially in reply as she walks by and Gianni says, "You're tight with the General. Know what she's gonna say?"

　

Rey shakes her head. "No. Probably let everybody know what happened."

　

"So what did happen?" Kylo asks her as she comes to stand next to him. She's wearing a little white sweater, a strip of pale belly exposed over the waist of her cutoffs. Her hair curls damply, just brushing her shoulders. He takes a deep breath and looks away before she answers.

　

"Hux left with Phasma and they did something illegal. I think." He hears the shrug in her voice. "You probably know more than I do." Her tone changes and he looks over at her. She's looking towards the stage. "She’s here."

　

Kylo looks down. Leia has come to the stage flanked by Han and Chewie. His mother, with his father and his father's oldest, dearest friend. She pauses, and they take a step back as she mounts the stage and walks to the center alone.

　

Kylo is going to have to quit fucking drinking, because his apocalyptic hangover is the only explanation for the sudden awful sharpness in his throat. He has got to get his shit together. Rey is looking at him. _Get your shit together right fucking now_.

　

Someone hands Leia a lapel mic and she affixes it to her jacket. Kylo stares at her t-shirt - Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks, and Kylo can faintly remember lying on a plaid blanket, staring at the stars as acoustic guitars play and singers mournful voices rise on the twilit air. His mother's hair tickling his face as she leans over him, singing softly. He bites the inside of his lip until the taste of blood banishes the memory.

　

"Is this thing on?" Feedback squeals loudly and everyone winces as someone darts forward to adjust the mic for Leia, and she starts again.

　

"Thank you all for coming. I know it was a lot to ask of you after such a long night last night, but I think it's important for you to know what's going on. I'm sure there have been a lot of rumors circulating this morning."

　

Murmurs of assent ripple through the crowd, and she pauses for them to dissipate before she continues. "Around four a.m. this morning, Brendan Hux and Christie Phasma left the faire, taking with them some equipment and information, as well as a yet-unknown quantity of the faire's operating cash."

　

Now the murmurs are more like yelps and other outraged vocalizations. Kylo hears lots of slurs and insults directed at both of the culprits, and no small number of people turn to look at _him_. He forces his face into stillness. They can think what they want.

 

Except that he notices his mother, too, looking straight at him. He tips his chin up and doesn't blink. Does she really think he'd embezzle funds from her? Fine, let her think that.

　

Then he feels a slight nudge against his side. Rey leans in. "Anybody who thinks you were part of that is an idiot," she says. He looks down into her utterly serious, wide-eyed face. "Don't pay any attention to them."

　

He nods slightly. Someone deep inside, he feels a little less evil and crazy. "I won't."

　

Leia has continued speaking. "I want to assure all of you, right now, that those of you who are on the staff payroll will be paid your regular rate, although there may be a short interruption of the pay schedule." This is received with muted grumbling. "Those of you who have contracts will also be paid according to the terms set forth in your contracts, if you are willing to stay and complete your scheduled performances." She pauses, and removes her sunglasses so that she can look intently into individual faces, something she does for several long moments. "We are not closing the faire ahead of the usual date. If you can please, _please_ be patient, and give me your trust, I promise you will all be paid what you are owed for your hard work and dedication."

　

This information is received with a few cautious cheers. A voice pipes up, "But some people have left already, as soon as they heard." Someone else adds, "Yeah, a couple of vendors closed up, and I heard that the fire-eaters decided to pack it in and move on to their next gig." More voices chime in, contributing their knowledge of who has already given up on Takodana.

　

Leia raises her hands to signify a request for quiet, and when she finally gets it, she continues. "This is true, and I'm aware that several of you can find other work so that you don't have to contend with an interruption in your income. I won't hold it against anyone who wants to move on, at this point, even though I ask you with all my heart to stay, if you're able."

　

The crowd continues to get louder, and finally someone shouts out, "I heard you've already got a buyer for the faire, and if you sell it none of us get paid at all!"

　

Full pandemonium ensues. It will be interesting to see how she deals with _this_ , Kylo thinks. Leia is nothing if not a charismatic leader.

　

And she totally works that angle. She puts her sunglasses back on and wades into the crowd until she comes to the speaker, and she stands next to him, silent, until the it catches on and people hush all around her.

　

"You've made a good point," she begins. "So I want to make this abundantly clear, and I want to make sure all of you hear me." She pauses again, until everyone is turned towards her expectantly. Abashed, the speaker sits down.

　

Leia smiles. "Thank you. To answer your question, if I wanted to find a buyer for the faire, there are four or five commercial real estate agents who call me every year, wanting to raze this place and throw up a strip mall. Super Wal-Mart, McDonald's, you know the drill. Happens in a lot of small towns around here when their local, family-owned businesses can't make a go of it anymore." She takes a breath. "If I wanted to sell the faire, and my family's land, I'd have done it years ago, taken the hundreds of thousands of dollars and not looked back."

　

And now every rapt eye is upon her. Kylo has a momentary impulse to roll his, but he can't deny that she's in her element now. She's got them all right where she wants them. "If only you'd sold it then," he mutters. 

 

Rey gives him a gentle push. "Shh."

　

Leia is talking again, but he needs to get something handled right now and out of the way. "I'll _shhh_ if you'll go out with me."

　

"Go out with you." Her tone suggests that she thinks she misheard. Her face is less than thrilled.

　

He nods, looking at Leia instead of Rey because of the two, Leia is easier to deal with at the moment. "Yeah. On a date, away from here." He feels the beginning of a smile, not a nice one, because he's not a nice person. "I can tell you're thinking you won't like it, but you will, I can promise you that."

　

"...and this faire is going to finish out the season even better than it started! I need all of you, and I need you to believe we can do this, because we _can_ do this and we _will_ do this, and you'll spend your whole life being glad you were part of it!" Leia's speech reaches its climax, and Rey still hasn't answered, and Kylo starts to think he's made a _huge_ mistake -

　

"Okay. Yeah. A date-away-from-here." Rey is nodding next to him. "Just say when."

　

And, appropriately, cheers erupt all around them. Kylo knows they're for Leia, and for her rousing speech and her getting literally the entire gaggle of idiots to pledge their loyalty to helping her run this place into the ground. He could throw his own fist in the air and nobody would have any idea that he wasn't completely caught up in that moment.

　

But he's caught up in his own moment. Rey's smiling, and she's a little pink, and now he's got to figure out where in Godforsaken Nowhere, USA he's going to take her.

　

"About time," Savion mutters, and he and Gianni high-five each other.

　

　

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks and much love for all the kudos and comments, and thank you to any and all who are just reading this story!! Y'all are awesome <3<3
> 
> We're taking a week off from posting due to general busyness and life complications (nothing serious, and Hato should get a medal for having to deal with me). The next chapter will be up sometime after May 10, and we promise to make it worth your while.
> 
> **Title is a mashup of lines cribbed from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, and Fleetwood Mac's Gold Dust Woman.


	10. Dude, This is Very Midsummer Madness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your patience, we thank thee most humbly. 
> 
> Extra love for Frack who makes all the Reylo come true <3

**Chapter 10: Dude, This is Very Midsummer Madness**

Leia raises her beer. “ First, I want to thank everyone for coming here at the end of such a long, crappy day.” 

There’s a chorus of, “ Here, here,” and, “ Cheers, “ and even a, “ Kampai,” from the small crowd in her living room. Everyone turns up a glass of their preferred drink in salute, in agreement of the suckiness of the day. 

Leia stands in front of her empty fireplace and lets her gaze sweep across the room. She’s gathered her block captains together to disseminate the police information, take inventory, and discuss the upcoming weekend. Maybe even talk about what will happen after this weekend, if she can bring herself to think about it. 

“ Okay.” Leia waits for them to settle down, giving her their full attention. Can’t put it off any longer. “ So, the police were not happy about being called in a day after the crime had been committed, but screw them, my people come first. I know they questioned everyone on the grounds and will be back tomorrow to question those who weren’t around today. They’ve been given a list of people who’ve already left for the season. They’ve taken fingerprints and files and Poe’s laptop- and you will be receiving a new one, Poe, don’t argue with me- and will let us know as soon as humanly possible what they can do about all of it.” A small smirk. “ We all know who they’re up against and I think we all know how well the police are going to handle it, but it’s out of our hands. So, I’m not going to focus on that right now.”

“ Along that line, reporters have already been snooping around today. Looking for a scandal or sob story. The faire’s official statement is No Comment. Feel free to use it liberally and aggressively. Chewie has been kind enough to be our media spokesperson,” Leia grins at the big man taking up half her loveseat. He nods in return. “ You can refer all comments, questions, and concerns to him, I know everyone here has his cell number.” The group murmurs affirmatively and Leia moves on. “ I have called First Order Entertainment, Hux’s employer, and if it makes anyone feel better, Hux has apparently stuck it to his bosses, as well, because FOE refuses to pursue the case or take any further action against him or Captain Phasma. They are also dropping us as a client; read, we are a huge liability and they don’t want to touch us with a ten-foot pole. We are, once again, on our own.” 

“ Better off.” Han mumbles. Daisy kicks his foot on Leia’s behalf. 

Leia shoots him a look before he can protest and he is instantly cowed.” I have emails or texts from everyone here, listing who has left their section so that I can fill some holes in our schedule. Thank you for getting those to me so quickly.” She turns her attention to Poe and Artie, the two responsible for the day players, random faire positions, and the more permanent staff who deal with maintenance and such. Next to them are seated the representatives from the Mud show, Cirque de Lune acrobatics, and Camelot’s Court theatrical troupe; Oscar, Sabine, and CP respectively. “ Now, finances. Payroll. Everyone who fulfills their contract will be paid their contracted fee at the end of the season.” She glances at Savion sitting next to Chewie, the second Knights of Ren rep diligently taking notes on his phone. Kylo is lurking in a corner near the front door and Leia can feel his cold glare from across the room. Luke is sitting silently in another corner, staring at the floor. Probably meditating.

“ It may come a week or two late, but no more than that and it will be paid in full. Anyone who chooses to leave earlier will be paid for the days worked. I’m striking Hux’s penalty fee for breaching contract.” This is aimed primarily at Nelson, promoted from lieutenant to captain of the Knights of the Storm. He’s a 50/50 in Leia’s book; he might stay now that he’s in charge of the unit, but he might also decide he can do better elsewhere. “ Likewise, I will prorate the boothe fees for all the vendors who decide to leave before their contracted date.” Leia gets a nod from Chewie and Rachel, a petite trans woman with huge blonde hair and full sleeves of military tattoos who speaks for the food vendors. Chewie, of course, represents the artisans guild. 

“ With FOE pulling out-” There’s a snort of laughter from the corner and oddly enough it comes from Luke, not Kylo. Leia rolls her eyes. “ The big company sponsors we managed to gain over the last few years have also dropped us like a hot potato. That’s a lot of money we’ve used for things other than payroll. Supplies, marketing, repairs. It’s gone now, so we’re tightening our belts and everyone needs to be extra nice to the equipment and sparing with the toilet paper. Most of our local sponsors are still onboard and I will be meeting with them next week to see what else they can afford to give us.”

Good. Everyone seems to be on the same page, no one arguing about things she can’t change. Excellent. “ I don’t have to tell you all that next weekend is our biggest moneymaker of the season. The 4th of July holiday puts more gold in our coffers than opening and closing weekends combined, especially when it’s a three-day weekend like it is this year. It is what keeps us running and makes it worth your while to set up shop here each summer.” Leia puts her beer bottle on the mantle and wipes the condensation on the thighs of her capris. “ I don’t care if it’s for the holiday money or just the plain inconvenience of breaking camp early, I appreciate everyone who didn’t cut and run at the first hint of rain.” She lets her words settle a bit, looking each and every person in the eye to convey her sincerity. “ That being said, the storm is now looming over us, ready to strike us down at the worst possible moment. And I won't hold a grudge against anyone who moves on after the holiday. You’ll go with my blessings.”

Leia takes in a little breath, stills the tremble in her heart. She's willing to beg, this is worth begging. “ But I hope you'll consider staying. Because I won’t lie, we can do it without your help, but what we’d end up with wouldn’t be worth shit and that’s not the kind of faire I’m trying to run here. I love this place, I’ve done a lot over the years to keep it going. Not for the money, obviously.” She grins, seeing a few other small smiles spreading across well loved faces. “ I’ve kept doing it because this is my family. ”

“ I’ve watched many of you grow out of tunics and breeches and into bodices and armour. Watched you laugh and cry and curse and hook-up and break-up. You’ve surprised me every season with how far your skills have advanced. And then I’ve watched you run off to college and the military and… bigger and brighter things.” And Kylo is out the door and no one looks surprised and Leia hates herself for a moment because she’s getting sentimental in her old age just like Han. Like _Luke_.Shit. She’d caught herself, but not quickly enough, and that subconscious gremlin made her hesitate. Gave her away. Poe makes the smallest shuffle to the side to stand closer to her and Leia can’t help but think that Dameron and Bey are the luckiest goddamn parents on the face of the Earth. 

She throws a smile at the young man and tries to wrap it up before tears are imminent.“ And I’ve been ridiculously happy to see you come back. Bringing your friends, your partners, your own kids. Every summer is a reunion that I look forward to all year and I like to think that most of you feel the same way. And I want a place good enough for you to keep coming back to. That’s all I’m trying to do. ” Leia takes a big breath and claps her hands together. “ Thank you again, for everything, really. Think it over, discuss it with your people, and let’s have a good weekend! If you’re driving, be careful. If you’re walking, don’t fall in the pond!” 

Laughter takes over the sound of sniffles that Leia has determinedly ignored at the finish of her speech. She hadn’t meant for it to be a tearjerker, she just… Old sentimental twat, she is. Leia happily greets the line of people wanting hugs and handshakes. Daisy, Sabine and CP are hardcore huggers. Artie pats her hand. Savion gives a firm shake, blue eyes intense as he assures her that the KoR will not breach contract. 

Leia thanks each one, returns the goodwill in kind, and looks forward to finishing her beer once her house clears out. 

**XOXOXOX**

Luke doesn’t actually mean to laugh at Leia’s phrasing. It just sorta happens and he can’t stop the chuckle swelling up. And he doesn’t necessarily feel guilty about it, either. 

Afterwards, though, he maintains a straight face and sits quietly; listening to his sister take care of business as he stares at his folded hands. When Kylo silently stalks out the door, Luke watches him go with a detached sense of sympathy. There’s nothing he can do with that, not right now. 

So he listens and ignores the curious stares of people who didn’t even know Leia had a twin brother and waits for everyone to make their way home before standing up and stretching his tensed limbs. Tonight’s bedtime meditation may very well be extended. 

Han is busy clearing up, returning chairs back to their places, picking up beer bottles and glasses. He’s lost in thought as he works and Luke leaves him to it. Leia and Chewie retire to the porch and Luke waits a few minutes before following, idly wondering if he should. Of course, Leia will simply tell him to piss off if he isn’t wanted, that takes the pressure off, so Luke walks onto the front porch and sits down on the top step where he can see across the pond to the lights of the campground. 

There are still a few dark shapes lingering in the twilight, slowly receding into the distance toward their destinations. Tents, RVs, trailers. Some are driving down the road or a few exits away. Heading back to the people who are waiting for the news, anxious and uncertain about their future. A horrible position to be in, in any situation. 

A nice breeze blows through his beard, sweeps the back of his neck under his short ponytail. It should be a nice weekend, hot, but not unbearably so. Luke eventually brings his focus back to the porch and the two people rocking slowly back and forth on the old paint chipped glider. Chewie has his long arm stretched out along the back of the swing, an iced tea in the other hand resting on his knee. Leia is slumped in the other corner, head resting on Chewie’s arm, eyes closed. 

Careworn and tired. 

After that heartfelt speech, Luke couldn’t be any prouder of her. But he’s not going to embarrass her with his own sentimentality. “ What do you need me to do?” 

“... Run the ticket booth and main gate. Lars left this morning and I can’t spare anyone else capable of handling it.” Leia doesn’t open her eyes. Her bare toes skim over the concrete porch, nails painted bright turquoise blue. “ And make sure your stash is hidden. I don’t need another reason for the detectives to search the place.” 

“ Will do.” Luke takes a moment to dredge up quasi-useful memories of working the main gate. He recalls it being fairly straightforward. Money, change, ticket, map. 

The screen door swings open and Han appears, wiping his hands on his black t-shirt. “ No one told me the party moved out here.” He falls heavily into a wicker chair at Leia’s side. Sliding his hand on top of hers, Han smiles encouragingly. “ That went pretty well. You’ve got a good crew here, Leia. They all love you.” 

“ I know.” Leia breathes out, opening her eyes and sitting up on the glider. “ They deserve more than I can give them, I’m afraid.” She doesn’t take her hand away.

“ We’ll manage it, somehow.” Han stares into the distance, across the pond. “ Together.”

Companionable silence descends on the group and Luke soaks it up, relaxes into it. It’s been too long. Much too long. 

They were all here, on this porch, fifteen years ago. Arguing. Fighting. Accusations as thick as the summer humidity. He remembers every single sharp word Leia threw at him. The anger in Han’s expression, and the lack of blame. Chewie’s concerned growls. Luke hadn’t said anything. Not even an apology. What could he possibly say? Not a damn thing. He had welcomed Leia’s venom, her cold silence when he stepped off the porch and abandoned his family. 

And now he’s back and they’re all here. On the porch. Together. 

With half a plan and lots of doubts and a stupid amount of determination. 

Luke smiles at nothing and watches the fireflies flicker to life in the long grass. 

**XOXOXOX**  
　  
"This is how a toxic relationship starts," Finn says ominously to Rey . "First, he isolates you from your friends."

Rey tries not to roll her eyes. "Right, because you have such a wealth of dating experience."

She knows Finn is concerned because the Knights have just done their final show in July and Kylo has pulled her aside. "So, we need to leave in about an hour," he'd said without preamble. "Wear pants."

It takes a few seconds for Rey to realize that he is, right this moment, confirming their plans to go out. "I am wearing pants," she says, a little irritated. "And I'm supposed to go to some really chill cookout tonight, before the crazy 4th of July crowds tomorrow." All of the faire veterans had assured them both that in spite of Independence Day not existing in medieval times, the 4th was always one of the busiest, most profitable weekends and performers had to be well-rested and on their game.

Kylo looks unimpressed by her plans, and the fact that she has them. "Some really chill cookout, huh? Sounds thrilling." He continues packing away his gear. "Trust me, you'll like this better. And it has to be tonight. So be ready in -"

"In an hour, got it," Rey says. "And I'll wear pants, whatever that means."

"It means don't wear a skirt or shorts."

Kylo walks away, his confident unconcern almost palpable, before she can reply. Finn appears at her shoulder. "Next, he tries to tell you what to do, and what to wear," he says quietly.

She apologizes profusely to Finn, and promises to take their phone with her so she can send Poe a 911 text in case the date goes horribly awry. "We'll come get you right away," Finn promises. "Where are you going?"

Rey cringes because she knows she's about to get the third bullet-point of a toxic relationship. "He didn't tell me. I guess it's a surprise."

To his credit, Finn backs off and she's free to run back to their campsite for a shower and change. Or, rather, a shower and a quick dash to the Red Tent where she evaluates her available clothing choices.

"So, word on the street is you're goin' out with Kylo," Gemma greets her, exiting the tent in a diaphanous cloud of pot haze. "You sure a towel is a good choice for a first date?"

"I'm sure it's _not_ , which is why I'm here. Help?" Rey pleads. "I'd have picked, you know, a skirt, something sort of sexy and girly but like I'm not trying too hard? But he said wear pants. Which for me ratty jeans, or flowered leggings, and I wear them both all the time and they kind of don't have a date-vibe, and -"

"I might be too stoned for this dilemma." Gemma sighs and ducks back into the tent. For a few seconds Rey wonders if the girl has given up on her entirely, until Gemma reaches out and pulls her in. "You can pick through and find something you like."

Rey finds herself faced by a mountain of clothes in every color, pattern and fabric. Somehow, Gemma actually manages to help her focus and choose a pair of skinny olive-green pants with a black stripe up the side, and a floaty tank top. 

"Hmm," Gemma muses when she sees Rey dressed. "Almost perfect, but possibly too much side-boob for a first date. Put this under it." She digs out a bra-looking thing with a strappy back.

Rey takes it. "I can't imagine this is my size."

Gemma shrugs. "It's a bralette. Dumb word for an awesome piece of clothing. One size fits most, is what I'm sayin', though."

Rey agrees with the awesome part as soon as she puts it on, it's comfortable and cute and the fancy straps look perfect with the tank. She hugs Gemma a thank-you, and races back to the Falcon to get her boots and jeans jacket.

She's still making an attempt at her mascara when she hears the rapid, throaty pulse of a well-tuned four-stroke engine. Startled, she dumps the contents of her little makeup box into her satchel before almost tumbling out the door, betrayed by an untied boot-lace.

Kylo pulls off a carbon-black motorcycle helmet. His lips are quirked in a half-smile at her clumsiness.

"I...I didn't know you were picking me up," she almost stutters.

"The person with the vehicle generally does the picking-up," he replies.

She watches his gaze give her a pointed up-and-down, and it rubs her the wrong way. "I'm wearing pants, okay? I didn't think you needed to have approval over my outfit," she snaps.

Straddling the bike, he straightens. The late-afternoon light catches his eyes as they widen, clear and almost contrite. "It's fine. Perfect. I wasn't...I didn't." He stops and takes a breath, which gives Rey time to also take a deep breath, and suddenly she feels awkward for snapping at him.

"Okay. Now that I feel like I have to back up and try this again," he looks down, and then back up at her. "It's cool. You look great."

She crosses her arms, placated. "It's a nice bike. I wouldn't mind seeing you ride up again, since I didn't see it the first time." She smiles, hoping that he can forget her sharp tone from a few minutes ago.

He twists to unstrap a second helmet. "Put this on. We've kind of got a schedule to keep."

So, from tense to affable to all-business. Rey feels a little dizzy from the rapid cycle of emotion. She wouldn't mind a do-over, but it seems they have somewhere to go. She throws a leg over the bike, behind him, and starts to pull the helmet down.

He stops her. "There's no mic in yours, so we won't be able to talk."

"Okay." She's not entirely sure why he's telling her this, unless it's to keep her from trying to yell at him the whole time.

"Have you ever been on a bike before?"

"Nope. Worked on them a couple of times. My friend in high-school had a dirt bike and he couldn't keep it running to save his -"

Kylo leans towards her, into the bubble she considers her personal space, and it startles her into silence. "We're going to be on some back roads, and they're like most of the roads around here. Twisty, steep, narrow. Lot of pea gravel."

She starts to tell him, cool, she's got it, when he grabs her hand. "Pull on my jacket," he orders.

She does it. "Harder." She complies again, hard enough to jostle him. He shakes his head, and pries her fingers free from his jacket.The forcefulness of his gesture gives her a momentary impulse to yank her hand away, but it's like he senses it, and loosens his grip. His fingers slide along her palm and into the spaces between hers, his grip light and careful. His calluses graze her skin.

"I had you do that because these roads can get treacherous. I know you're strong, but don't trust your grip on my jacket, and we won't be able to really talk if there's a problem." He pauses, his gaze flickering up from their joined fingers to her eyes. "Hold on to me."

Rey wonders if he can see her swallow, and she doesn't trust her voice. She nods, and he breaks the gaze and turns to put his helmet back on. She does the same, and then wraps her arms tentatively around his waist.

He curls his hand around hers, just for a second, and squeezes, so she tightens her hold. And then they're off, the bike rumbling over the campground's uneven terrain.

It isn't until they reach the main road that he really opens it up, and both Rey's arms and legs involuntarily tighten against him. She's never been overly-sensitive to motion, but the sensation of hurtling through the open air at high speed with no control is overwhelming for a few minutes.

When she starts to acclimate to the growl of the engine as the bike climbs hills, the swoop of her stomach when it dives, and the way she has to tense and coil her whole body inward through the turns, she starts to enjoy herself more. It's surprisingly cool inside the helmet, and the rush of air against her body tugs at her snug clothing. As they ride, the light changes from hot orange glittering here and there through the trees to a deep pink glow that envelops everything.

The pink is deepening as Kylo makes a turn down a dirt road, and shifts into a lower gear. The bikes rumble thickens, and Rey becomes more aware of it between her legs. She shifts - not quite in discomfort - but she's wedged against Kylo's ass and there's not really anywhere she can go. And she could really quit holding on so tight at this point, but...well. Safety first, right?

She's actually surprised when they finally roll to a stop. She looks around. "A...field?" He has brought her out into an unplanted field that is, she realizes after a check of her phone, more than an hour away from the faire. She has no idea where she is.

Not that she thinks he would ever, like, _do away with her_ or anything. That's crazy. He's been completely decent to her recently, in fact, he seems to be making an effort to let her see that he likes her, which she's perceptive enough to know is hard for him.

But still. He couldn't have like, taken her to a movie? Is that too boring and normal-people for Kylo Ren to do on a first date?

Rey unbuckles her helmet and pulls it off, feeling a portion of her sweaty hair peel skyward. Not a good look. She smooths the rebellious locks back behind her ear before turning to him.

He has his helmet off too, and is unstrapping one of the saddlebags. "I knew we wouldn't have time to stop for food, so I brought some stuff. An assortment. If you don't like any of it, we can get something on the way home.

Rey nods. "Okay." She looks around again, more carefully in the waning summer sunlight. Yep, still the middle of nowhere. It's a beautiful nowhere. They've ridden out more into the hills, which roll out all around them in lush bluish-green slopes. She can smell honeysuckle. Surreptitiously, she glances at her phone. One bar, which winks away as she looks at it.

"Service will be better once we get where we're going," Kylo tells her. He shoulders the bag. "It's about a half- mile's walk up the path."

"A half-mile's walk."

"Yeah." He makes a vague gesture. "So, let's go."

Rey just stares at him as he heads off up the path. His pace makes her break into a jog to catch up. She maneuvers herself in front of him and walks backwards. "Seriously. I appreciate whatever effort you've made to keep this a secret, but _where_ are we going? And what are we going to do when we get there? Save the surprises for the next date, okay?"

Kylo's eyebrows lift. "There's going to be a next date, then?"

"Not if you don't tell me what we're doing, where we're going, and _aahh!_!" Rey feels her heel catch and yelps. Before she can fully pitch over backwards, Kylo steps into her and grabs her by the elbows, keeping her upright as easily as if he was catching an awkwardly thrown football.

"Um. Thanks." It takes Rey a moment to find her footing again, in no small part because his thigh is wedged between hers, jostling a tenderness that is a souvenir of the hour spent straddling a motorcycle on uneven pavement. She clears her throat and plants her feet firmly before backing away, but she doesn't turn or let him keep going. "Information, please."

A cloud of frustration scudds across his features, reminding her of his usual expression during practice, particularly when Finn manages to stubbornly resist some sort of training exercise. But the look fades quickly. "So, most of the local towns do their Fourth of July celebrations on the actual fourth. But out here in Oldham County, they always do it on the third. When I was a kid, I figured out the best place to watch the fireworks. That's where we're going."

With that, he turns her around and points. "Up there."

She gapes open-mouthed. "What _is_ that?"

"Walk and talk, okay?" He starts them moving again. "It's a fire tower. In dry seasons there's still some danger of forest fire around here. So public works builds spotting towers. This one was built in 1946."

Rey keeps staring at the tall, wooden structure looming ahead. She would have guessed 1846. The narrow supports and crossbeams look to be miles apart, as if a healthy wind might tip the thing over. A never-ending progression of stairs lead the way up to an open-air platform at the top.

"You could have asked if I'm afraid of heights."

Kylo shrugs as if he finds this inconsequential. "Are you?"

"Well, not before now. We're climbing up there?"

"I first did it when I was ten. It's really not that big of a deal."

And Rey decides that, okay, it's really not that big of a deal. Until they arrive at the base of the tower, and she sees that the first flight of stairs has been physically removed, assumably to discourage people from climbing the tower. The "No Trespassing" and "Violators Will Be Prosecuted" signs aren't nearly as impressive as those missing stairs.

Kylo hauls his long legs over the length of orange plastic fencing that has been cordoned around the tower. "Not a problem. There's a ladder." He walks over to what looks, to Rey, like an afterthought made of driftwood.

"You're fucking kidding me."

"Do I ever kid anyone?" He grabs ahold of the ladder support and swings onto the first step, then the second.

Rey sighs. Kylo is his usual self, dressed in jeans and a jacket instead of his usual Knights garb or workout clothes, but unsmiling and expecting to be obeyed in all things. She's either going to have to climb Deathwish Tower (her new mental name for it) or tell him she just isn't into it, and have him take her back. Which is guaranteed to be uncomfortable as hell.

She squares her shoulders and is walking towards him when he hops back down. "Okay. This was a bad idea. I...we can forget it. If we hurry, there's another high spot where we could watch the fireworks, we just need to get there before dark -"

Rey looks at him. His face is full of disappointment that he seems to shake off with the same motion he uses to flip the hair out of his eyes. And earnest concern. For her.  
It makes up her mind for her. She shakes her head. "If you say the view is the best from the top, then up we go. I'm fine with it."

She's not, not nearly, but she manages to convince herself long enough to get moving up the ladder. He climbs behind her, and a couple of times when she pauses he puts a reassuring hand on her ankle. "Doing great. It's not much further."

"Have you ever noticed why people say further instead of farther? Because further refers to figurative distance, whereas farther refers to measurable physical distance?" Rey can feel that she's panting a little. It seems like they've been climbing for an hour.

"The tower itself is about 75 feet high, and we're more than halfway. So let's say we've got about twenty-five feet to go. That better?"

Rey gulps. "No. Not better." She covers a few more rungs. "And it's getting darker."

"Which is why we left when we did."

Rey lets the noticeably fading light convince her to keep her hands and feet moving at a good pace until she reaches the platform. With great relief she crawls forward and away from the edge.

Kylo follows her up. "See, that wasn't a bad climb at all. I know people who've done it without the ladder, even."

"Maybe next time," Rey replies, and he laughs, which makes her happy. And feeling happy makes her feel calm, so that she can follow him to the safety railing and sit down with him as he puts down his bag and starts taking containers out.

Then she looks outward, and the rest of her discomfort fades. Dusk is falling over the tree-dotted slopes that stretch below them in every direction, turning the leaves purple and the grasses blue. Lights are starting to wink on in the distance, and the wind swirls inexplicable scraps of music up towards them from some local village celebration.

Rey looks over at Kylo, and his eyes are shining. "I did tell you," he says, and holds out a peach.

A few minutes ago Rey would have denied even being hungry, but now the sweet, ripe smell makes her stomach growl loud enough for them both to hear. She takes a big bite of the peach. "Wow, look at you, bringing all this food!"

"Well," Kylo sounds like he's trying not to sound pleased that he's impressed her. "Anybody can take you out for a fancy dinner. Besides, we'd have to go at least a hundred more miles in any direction for that, so I worked with what I had."

Rey opens a little container to reveal two cupcakes with frosting and sprinkles. "Aww, you baked?"

Kylo barks a laugh. "Uh, no. I can cook, but I don't do pastry. Those are from the bakery in town."

Rey chews and muses on an image of Kylo cooking anything while he reveals various finger-foods: blackberries, cherry tomatoes and balls of mozzarella in brine, fried chicken legs, and empanadas wrapped in foil. There is even a thermos full of ice-cold lemonade with slices of rhubarb floating in it.

"Oh my god. After a month of warmed-over faire leftovers, do you have any idea how awesome this is?" Rey scoops hummus onto a thick cucumber round. "It's like eating in a city."

"That's the idea. We could be anywhere. Anywhere but here."

"Actually," Rey pauses to take an unforgivably large bite of empanada. "I don't think I'd rather be anywhere _but_ here at the moment."

She watches his face as he registers the statement with surprise and just as quickly tries to brush it off, leaning over to pour her more lemonade.

Rey accepts the cup and thanks him. "It's true," she says after a moment. "I love it up here. It's perfect, the food is perfect. Even the ride out here was awesome. Like flying."

It makes her glad she took the conversation in that direction, because he spends a few minutes talking about his bike, a Triumph Bonneville. Rey is glad she knows enough to ask him about the custom pipes, because he waxes poetic about the exhaust for awhile.

"It's pretty much my favorite thing at the end of faire season," he says finally. "Riding out of here, taking as long as I want to get where I'm going."

It reminds Rey of the situation back at the faire. "You must be glad that's about to happen." She doesn't ask if he's planning to stay beyond the Knights' contracted run. She already knows that Savion and the others are planning to leave, so the answer seems a foregone conclusion.

Kylo worries his teeth into bottom lip before answering. "We go where the work is," he says obliquely. Then adds, "You've been doing great at practice. It's almost like you were always in the show."

Rey ducks her head. "Well, when you've got a good teacher," she teases.

Kylo doesn't catch the joke. "Good point," he replies.

Rey swallows the impulse to laugh and starts helping pack away the mostly-empty food containers, using the last of the light. "You're doing a good job with Finn, too, when you don't ride him so hard."

Immediately she knows she shouldn't have mentioned Finn. "He's undisciplined, and he expects me to pat him on the head when he screws up." Kylo says flatly. "That doesn't work."

Rey wants to back off, but she can't quite let it go. "He isn't undisciplined. He just doesn't do well with negative reinforcement."

Kylo looks like he's chewing on several answers before settling on one. "Well, he's going to have to learn to deal with my teaching style. You did."

"Yeah, but I was into you." The words are out before she really thinks about it.

Rey can feel her skin flushing, no way to get the words back now, so she forges ahead. "And don't tell me you couldn't tell. Because it was like we had this weird...I don't know. Connection-thing. At first it was just with sparring, like I felt like I knew what you were going to do, and how you'd parry a move, stuff like that."

"But it happened other times too," Kylo continues for her. "Like at the wedding. I was fucking drunk and I still had this, like, _sense_ of you, or something." In the pale light of moon-sliver, his eyes gleam black.

They're still staring at each other, the air between them charged, electric, when a muted _boom_ makes them both turn, suddenly, and look out over the trees. Another follows. Bursts of red and yellow, shimmering down into the darkness below.

"It's starting," Rey all but whispers.

"Yeah," he replies.

They watch, rapt, as the fireworks display continues. They're so high up, on a tower on a hill, that each illumination seems to happen almost at eye level. As if they could reach out and take hold of a yellow chrysanthemum, a white cascade, a purple supernova. 

The distance plays tricks with them, a thundering seconds before they see the explosions.

Some are soft pops that turn into fountains of sparks that keep raining down, over and over. Others fly much higher, the rockets screaming before multiple colors explode across the canopy of black sky.

And then, as they get closer to the end of the show, more. Bigger. Louder. A heavy boom rocks the air around them, and Rey grabs Kylo's hand as the tower seems to vibrate. He squeezes her fingers for a moment.

She turns, and he's gazing at her like she's the source of all the beauty and color and light. His eyes reflect the explosions, each one turning them amber behind huge, black pupils.

Then whoever is launching the rockets apparently decides to go out in a huge blaze of glory, because a riot of stars and snowflakes and cascades of fiery orange rain down from the heavens for what seems like minutes on end, bursting over and over until Rey's heart is racing, pounding right along with each explosion.

She leans towards him as he does the same, and their lips meet, hard. Even the edge of one of Kylo's teeth against her bottom lip is a thrill. It doesn't hurt, not really, but he hears the tiny sound she makes and his hand comes up along her jaw, thumb stroking her cheek. "Sorry," he slurs against her mouth.

"S'okay," she whispers back, and then they're really kissing. He holds her face, careful with his teeth and a little unsure. She presses, making him open for her, and dips her tongue between his lips. He catches up quickly, chasing her, sliding his tongue along hers.

Their lips part. Rey shivers at the sensation, the air cool against slick, swollen lips. Ever attuned to her, he slides his hands down her neck, over her shoulders. "You cold?" he whispers.

She shakes her head no but a harder shiver rocks her, and she realizes that she is.

"You are," he agrees with her unspoken answer. "It got really windy up here all of a sudden." He rubs her arms, a surprisingly tender gesture. "And cloudy." His voice takes on a tinge of regret. "I forgot to check the weather for tonight."

She leans into him, letting the broadness of his body block some of the wind. "I don't wanna stop, though."

He mouths at her hair. "Me neither. But we still have to climb down, and that won't be fun in the rain, trust me."

Rey realizes she has entirely forgotten the ridiculous rickety ladder. "We're already going to be doing it in the dark. How much worse could it be?"

He lets go of her to start packing up their things. "You don't want to know." Before stowing the containers in the saddlebag again, he withdraws two small items. "I did plan ahead this far, at least."

He hands her a Petzl headlamp, and helps her adjust it before putting the other one on himself. He slings the bag across his back. "I'll go behind you, just like we came up, and I'll guide you. Put both feet on the rung before going to the next one. Okay?"

"Okay."

Rey is sure that now she can feel the tower sway in the rising wind. The headlamp is bright, but it only illuminates the rungs in front of her. Maybe that is a good thing, because she focuses on them, hand-hand-foot-foot. The wind steals their words, so rather than yell, Kylo taps her ankle to let her know when to keep going.

It seems to take hours to descend the ladder. At the halfway point droplets of rain start to splatter all around, and her foot slips. She recovers, but Kylo climbs up close behind her, just one rung below, and she's almost embarrassed at how good it feels to have his body bracing hers.

"You okay?" His voice is warm in her ear.

"Yeah. But, just give me a minute."

"No problem." He can feel her gulping breaths, still reacting to her dizzying, sudden drop, and he presses his mouth to her ear. "Try to take deep breaths. You're fine. We'll wait as long as you need to."

"What if the rungs give way?"

"They won't. And if something weird does happen, I've got you."

And he _does_. Somehow she doesn't want to be anywhere but stuck on this ladder, thirty feet in the air in a gathering thunderstorm.

Her heartbeat slows finally, and she starts to tell him she's ready when a beam of white light suddenly beams over them both, and she looks down to see the flashing red and blue beacons of a police cruiser flashing near Kylo's motorcycle.

"This is the Oldham County Sherriff's department, and you are trespassing on government property!" a voice blares over a hand-held PA loudspeaker. "Immediately continue to climb down!"

_tbc_


	11. Hakuna Matata, My Good Knight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Busy, busy summer with new jobs and moving and all sorts of life stuff! We're going to try to get back into the groove and get poor Rey and Kylo out of the tower and get Poe and Finn a step closer to smooches. Thanks to everyone for their patience and encouragement!!!

**Chapter 11: Hakuna Matata, My Good Knight**

 

Finn is having a really good time. 

He felt kinda weird walking into the Pre-Fourth Frenzy Picnic without Rey at his side, but Adam found him quickly enough and spent a solid five minutes draped over his shoulders, attempting to talk Finn into drinking more than one of Oscar’s newest flammable concoctions- this one tasted like pineapple and turpentine- and then trying to lead him into the nearby bushes. Finn managed to escape, citing his need to put his picnic contribution of chocolate chip oatmeal cookies on the food table. And, despite his social anxiety and worry over Rey’s outing with Kylo, he was still hungry enough to eat a horse. 

Poe arrived just as Finn was loading up his plate with fried chicken and squash casserole. The older man’s mere presence eased most of Finn’s nervousness and the next hour and a half was spent talking to his fellow faire performers and their families, Poe escorting him from one conversation to the next, bailing him out of the occasional awkward situation.

It’s fully dark now, the citronella torches burning brightly, the small bonfire near the pond smoking in the blackness. Fireflies pop in and out of existence in the tall grass. Finn and Poe are sitting together on a blanket on the less populated side of the house where there’s nothing to block the view of the stars and scattered clouds. And the occasional fringe of light in the distance, each one accompanied by a delayed muffled boom. 

Finn yawns behind his cup of lemonade before spilling the cold liquid down his throat. It’s the dregs of the cup, meaning it’s sickly sweet and ruins the flavor of the oatmeal cookie he’s nibbling on. He’s stupid tired. The busy weekend, long hours of training, dealing with Kylo Ren for more than thirty seconds at a time.

Honestly, Kylo’s the worst of it. 

Finn has no problem with the actual training; he loves drills and perfecting techniques and learning new things. He loves sparring with Rey. What he has a problem with is Kylo’s attitude. On a good day, Kylo rubs him the wrong way with his condescending glare and silent snarl. Unfortunately, there haven’t been any good days since Huxodus. Instead, Finn is constantly berated and belittled, slapped down and treated like an idiot. Every word out of the asshole’s mouth raises Finn’s hackles, makes him resistant to any instruction, even when Finn agrees with the instructions themselves. And the way Kylo talks to Rey… But Rey likes the asshole- for some unholy reason- so Finn sucks it up and tries harder to keep his temper under control and meet Kylo’s demands. It’s taking its toll on him, though. At least the small window A/C Chewie loaned them keeps the Falcon cool enough at night to sleep comfortably. It’s probably the only thing keeping him going at this point. 

But Finn’s not supposed to be thinking about that crap right now. No. He’s supposed to be talking planes with Poe. Except Finn doesn’t know anything about planes other than they fly and the tickets are ridiculously expensive. So really, he’s just listening to Poe gush about engines and wingspan and his exploits in the USAF that have Finn- who’s barely left the southern US- completely mesmerized. 

“ … I was stationed in South Korea for a couple years right out of flight school. It was beautiful and I got totally spoiled on the food. Mom makes an awesome bulgogi that’s damn near as good as what we had in Osan.” Poe stares off in the distance, apparently lost in his thoughts of grilled meat.

“ I can’t even imagine travelling that far.” Finn stares off in the same direction, barely noticing the flare of red and green through the trees, brain trying to wrap itself around leaving the familiar sights and sounds and food of what he’s always known as home. “ I had one foster family outside of Georgia, just over the border in Tennessee, so nothing was really different.” He snickers. “ Except what kind of barbecue sauce we were supposed to use.” 

Poe groans, rubbing his hand across the middle of his Ziggy Stardust t-shirt. “ Memphis barbecue is definitely in my Top Five. Gods, I’ve got to stop thinking about food.” He falls back on the old patchwork quilt, throwing his arms above his head, reaching for the frayed edge with his heels and toes.

Finn watches, smiling at the way Poe unabashedly wallows in the simple luxury of stretching. In the dim light cast from the back porch, he can just make out a swathe of exposed belly as Poe’s lighter shirt rides up with his movements. He wants to touch it. Very badly.

Instead, Finn turns his head and swallows the rest of his drink. He sits cross-legged, hunched over, his elbows resting on his thighs. He tilts his head back, though, taking in the bright pinpoints of light freckling the navy sky. “ It’s pretty out here. You know, I used to sneak out onto the roof at night when I was a kid, just to get some privacy. I fell asleep a few times up there and got into a world of trouble, but it was worth the view.” Speaking about his childhood is also one of those things Finn doesn’t want to think about tonight. Coward. 

Poe curls back up into a sitting position, pose mirroring Finn’s. Their knees just touch. His dark hair falls across his forehead even as he cranes his neck to look up. “ Winter was always my favorite season to stargaze. I spent most of my teenage years bundled in the truck bed, parked below the cornfield, watching meteor showers and wishing on stars.” 

“ Alone?”

There’s a brief pause, then Poe shrugs. “ Sometimes.” 

Finn chews on that. Why did he even ask? A twinge of jealously is poking his heart and he swats it aside. He has no right to be jealous of memories, of things that happened before he was old enough to even know what _parking_ meant. But being jealous in the first place throws the entire complex issue of his feelings for Poe front and center. Exactly what he’s been avoiding lately.

Maybe they’re not so complex. Finn likes Poe. A lot. A hell of a lot. And oddly enough, Poe seems to like him in return which isn’t entirely out of Finn’s purview but it’s rare enough for him to question it. He thinks of his conversation with Rey a few weeks ago, about his nearly non-existent dating repertoire. Finn hasn’t seriously dated anyone in his life, though certainly not for the lack of trying. He’s fallen in love a few times, but it just never seemed to work out. He kissed a girl in tenth grade. He kissed a boy that same year. One of his foster sisters kissed him when he was eighteen. He lost his virginity to a beautiful college student during his first faire season. Later that month he thought he had his first boyfriend. He was wrong. The girlfriend he had afterwards lasted three months before she enlightened him to the whole friends with benefits trend. And after that… Hook-ups, one-night-stands, crushes kept under wraps. 

Relationships became another of those things Finn longed for but didn’t think he’d ever really accomplish. Like having his own place. Or getting NBA tickets. So, he adjusted. Kinda. He didn’t pursue anyone, and when he accepted a sexual invitation he did his best to enjoy the moment and not hope for more. 

The first time he saw Poe walking across the faire grounds with the guys from the Mud Show (though at the time he just thought they were really dirty handymen), Finn’s first thought had been, _That’d be nice._ A flash of longing, an acknowledgment of attraction, and then Finn let it float away into nothing as he trudged toward the lists, because it wouldn’t amount to anything and Finn was busy trying to scrape by. He didn’t need the distraction of a literal roll in the hay, at least not until he knew if he’d be staying more than an afternoon.

And then Poe had come to him. In the stables while Finn was keeping Galahad from eating his fingers along with the apple and Poe had stopped in to talk to Artie and cornered Finn outside Galahad’s stall. They’d talked for a few minutes about the heat and Phasma and how they were both excited for the season and Poe had told him not to give up and slapped him on the shoulder and Finn decided Poe was a great guy and he friend-zoned _himself_ in order to maintain realistic expectations. Friends, great. More than that… not likely. 

And then that night, outside Maz’s bar, some drunken jerks had picked a fight with Poe near the cornfield that separated the bar from the staff campground. Finn had been headed to the Castle when he stumbled upon them, just as Poe was being hauled up from the ground, his face cut and bruised but obstinately defiant. Finn had almost bolted in the other direction. Instead, he barrelled through the group of drunks, managing one sucker punch before grabbing Poe’s hand and dragging him toward the bar, shouting at the top of his lungs to, _“Run!”_ They’d made it inside just as Maz- though Finn didn’t know her at the time- came through the door and bounced the disorderly men from the premises. Between free drinks and ice packs, Finn had felt the little flame of desire flare in his heart as Poe exaggerated the rescue with every retelling. 

Then the hot summer days rolled by and things happened and suddenly his initial hopes involving Poe had not only come true, but became an opportunity for more. 

And now they’re here. Sitting together in the dark, listening to the far off fireworks, sorta talking about their romantic pasts and opening the dialogue to further that discussion if either wishes. If Finn wasn’t so afraid of his own hate-mongering history coming to light, he might press Poe about the personal details of his life. But he _is_ afraid, terrified. Rey accepted him, and Finn is convinced Poe won’t shun him outright, but… will he change his mind about him? Will Poe still want him to visit his home? Or will Poe brush off the invitation and slowly remove the more personal aspect of their friendship until he’s nothing more than an acquaintance and at the end of the season Finn will move on and the entire summer will become just another depressing blur of disappointment and what ifs to mull over in his lonely tent in the next town?

Shouldn’t he just get all this out of the way now? Start figuring out what he’s going to do with the rest of his summer if Poe isn’t going to play as large a part in it as hoped? 

And is he going to get a better chance than now, when they’re alone and not likely to be disturbed and it’s too dark to see the affection dying in Poe’s eyes? 

Finn hates when his conscience is so damn reasonable. 

He reaches out and finds Poe’s hand on the blanket. Slides his palm over the sharp knuckles and hears Poe’s tiny inhale of surprise. But the older man doesn’t pull away. In fact, it seems like Poe moves closer, leaning in until their shoulders almost touch. This is a good sign, very encouraging. 

Flash of lightning, crack of thunder, right on top of them.

A raindrop slaps Finn’s cheek.

“ Oh shit.” Poe jumps up and barely waits for Finn to roll off the blanket before jerking it up. 

It takes a moment for Finn to realize that Poe has turned his wrist and is now holding tightly to his hand. Finn happily goes with it, running toward Leia’s back porch. He can barely hear the surprised shrieks of the other guests around front as the bottom drops out and the landscape is instantly flooded. He jumps the two steps right behind Poe, bare feet sliding on the wet concrete, bumping into one of the wicker chairs. They stand at the edge and stare out into the deluge, Finn heatedly aware of their entwined fingers. 

This right here; palm to palm, thumbs crossed? This is why he needs to hurry up and confess. “ Hey, Poe?” Finn’s voice is almost drowned out by the violence of the storm, rain drumming loud on the roof. “ My family…” How the hell is he supposed to say this? “ You need to know that I grew up in... my family was a-”

“ A hate group.” Poe turns to him in the yellow porch light. Nonplussed, casual. Like a passing comment on the crazy weather. “ I know.”

Finn gapes, then shuts his mouth with a hard click. “ Rey?” No, she’d never betray a confidence. Right? 

Surprise tweaks Poe’s expression, then a disappointed sigh escapes him as he shakes his head. “ No, but I should’ve known you would tell her first.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls his phone free, scrolling through the screens. 

“ You know?” Finn is confused. His grip on Poe’s hand falls slack, but Poe tightens his fingers and Finn stops trying to pull away. “ When? How? Why didn’t you-”

“ This is you.” 

Finn can’t breathe. On the screen is a news article, a large photo taking up the top half. Poe tilts the phone, photo aligning and enlarging. The caption dates the photo seven years ago and places it in Canton, the Georgia National Cemetery. It shows a mass of people in front of the iron gates. On the right, a line of military dress blues and mournful expressions. On the left, a mob of screaming faces and hateful signs.

In the right corner, closest to the camera, is a younger version of himself. Staring somberly at the ground, half his face hidden behind a bright orange sign with huge black letters of damnation. Finn remembers this. Oh God, he remembers this! The last day with his _family_. Five minutes after this photo was taken the general chaos had become complete pandemonium and Finn had run. How did Poe find this? Why does Poe have this? 

“ That’s me.” Poe’s finger curls over the phone and taps in the middle of the blue uniforms. The phone responds, zooming in on an arm and shoulder, three-quarters of a back profile frozen in a gap in the crowd. 

It’s blurry, and not much of the soldier’s face is visible, but Finn can see the edge of a dark brow, a tightly drawn mouth. Recognizes the straight back and confident posture. He can easily imagine Poe’s expression, the anger and hatred that always met the family’s demonstrations. 

Poe leans in close, speaking directly into Finn’s ear to be heard over the rain. “ I didn’t even remember until we talked in the stables that first day. You were so familiar and when you mentioned growing up in Georgia it suddenly hit me that you were the kid at Muran’s funeral.” 

Finn hadn’t even known the deceased soldier’s name. And it had been Poe’s friend. His exhale is rough, the held breath desperate to escape. So many questions. “ Y-you noticed me?” His elders had given him a thrashing the week prior for not being, _“wholeheartedly supportive of His message,”_ which basically meant he hadn’t used enough slurs or spit in enough faces. But Finn had still done his best to hide that day in Canton, not wanting to be a part of the madness anymore despite the threat of another harsh beating.

“ You stood out. You were so young, and you were the only one who looked ashamed to be there, unlike the mass of ignorant zealots screaming their idiot heads off.” Poe pulls back a bit, quirk of his brows, rueful smile on his damp face. “ And I was the one who threw the first punch, despite what the papers said, in case you ever wondered what really happened. I’m not supposed to tell anyone that, JAG’ll have my ass.” He drops the phone back to his pocket, casually observing the rain. “ I figured you’d tell me when you were ready, so I didn’t bring it up. Because honestly it doesn’t matter to me. That wasn’t you then, and that sure as hell isn’t you now. You’re a good man, Finn.” 

Finn is speechless. Literally and figuratively. His lips are moving, but nothing is happening. Same for his brain; thoughts are there, blips of emotion and flashes of memory, but coherent words are frighteningly absent. Finn knows what he should be saying right now. 

_Why don’t you hate me?_

But Poe’s affectionate gaze dares Finn to ask such a stupid question. And then there’s the burn at the back of Finn’s throat and he swallows it down because he didn’t cry in front of Rey and he’s certainly not going to cry in front of Poe. So instead he stares at the dying light of a tiki torch as it’s swallowed up by the sheets of rain. 

“ We’re good?” Poe leans in again, hot breath in Finn’s ear.

Finn shivers, swallowing the lump in his throat to get the words out. “ We’re good.” 

And the tip of Poe’s nose is on his skin, pressing gently, just below Finn’s ear. Nuzzling, really. And Finn feels a dizzying wave of heat rush through him, his entire being focused on the tiny point of connection between them. He’s squeezing Poe’s hand much too tightly, he knows, as he turns his face and pushes his mouth against Poe’s jaw. 

Hot Chocolate’s _You Sexy Thing_ explodes between them.

Finn jerks back, startled by… well, everything at this point. Poe struggles to get his phone from his pocket, screen lighting up his face. Finn gets his breath back.“ Who’s calling?” With that ringtone? An ex? Some other romantic interest who isn’t the very definition of fail? Finn hopes it’s one of those ironic ringtones, the suggestive song meant to humorously represent one of Poe’s neighbors or Leia or maybe his grandmother. 

“ It’s Rey.” 

The burst of happiness that Finn feels at Poe assigning his phone number such a ringtone is immediately squashed when he remembers why Rey would be calling Poe’s phone so early in the evening. “ Oh no.” 

_tbc_


	12. A Much Needed Bedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SEX, just so you're aware. SEX is in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! Another small chapter to help get us going :)

Leia is relaxing, goddammit.

She’s imbibed a single beer and only one of Gemma’s toxic brownies and now the ragged edge of fear and anxiety has been temporarily smoothed over. Not gone, by any means, but dulled to the point it’s easy to push the cloud of gloom to the back of her mind. It’s a nice reprieve from the crushing frustration that has been her day to day since Those Who Shall Not Be Named left the knife in her proverbial back and fled. 

It’s a nice, easy mellow, allowing her to watch the revelry with a sense of slightly detached amusement. Perfect for overseeing a shindig of grown children. Just what Leia needs. She also needs more paper towels and another half dozen bags of ice for her non-alcoholic drink table. This year’s Fourth of July Picnic is, unfortunately, smaller than years’ previous, but attendance never seems to make much of a difference in their ice supply. There’s never quite enough. “ John,” she calls over the music to the nearby bar. “ I’m going to get more ice.” 

“ I got it, General.” John pats Oscar on the back and grabs Adam, who is trying to chat up one of CP’s jugglers, by the neck of his shirt. “ We need more, too. C’mon, before you get pepper sprayed, idiot.” He pulls Adam toward the back of the house where the deep freeze is sheltered in an outbuilding. 

Leia nods in thanks. “ I’ll grab some bar towels for you while I’m in there, then.” She gives her front lawn a once over, checking for any immediate emergencies or imminent drunken mistakes. Everyone seems to be having a good time, their worries- like hers- momentarily chased away by good company and legally ambiguous substances. Finding nothing that makes her Spidey Sense tingle, other than the cloudbank beginning to form to the west, Leia retreats into the house. 

The A/C hits her like a cold wave, instantly chilling the sweat on her face and bare shoulders. She shivers even as she tilts her head back and leans against the closed door to enjoy the change of temperature. Leia breathes deep, adding the sensation to her gentle buzz. Part of her wants to take a shower and curl up with a bag of Hawaiian rolls and binge watch something nostalgically campy. But good hostesses do not do that, so Leia makes her way through the house to her kitchen to retrieve the needed items.

The tall figure standing in her dark kitchen doesn’t surprise her as much as she feels it should. Hip against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, Han stares out the long window near the back door. A twitch of his fingers, smile and glance cast toward her. Leia rolls her shoulders and crosses the vinyl floor, flip flops loud in the relative quiet indoors. Her pantry is getting low, the monthly shopping trip into town put on the back burner until after the holiday. She pulls a large stack of mismatched bar towels from the bottom shelf and turns her attention to Han. 

“ Who are you spying on?” She sidles up beside her sometimes-lover and peers through the glass, expecting to find Adam- having escaped John’s chore- leading Kay into the treeline near the back of the pond. Instead, she sees the outline of two young men sitting on a blanket in the middle of her back yard. Close, but not _too_ close. So it’s obviously Finn and Poe. Leia smiles at the scene of sweet contentment. 

“ Poe is putting an awful lot of effort into that Finn kid.” Han’s voice is quiet, amused. 

Leia leans against him, body heat seeping through his t-shirt and warming her backside. Normally she’d keep her distance, not wanting to start something that’ll only end in orgasms and immediate regret, but… it’s a holiday. “ He definitely had his work cut out for him, but I think it’s paying off.” She watches as Poe turns his head to drink, and Finn turns his head to watch the older man unseen. Yes, slowly but most certainly, it is paying off. “ You know Oscar’s crew has a betting pool going; five to one they hook up before tomorrow.”

“ Don’t remind me. I put my money on the first two weeks.” 

“ I went with the last two weeks of the season, so I’m pretty sure we’ve both lost our money.” 

“ Well, I won’t complain. They do look cozy out there together, if not exactly horny. ” Han shifts slightly; scrape of denim against her cotton dress. A few moments of companionable silence before Han breaks it.“ I saw Ben head out on his bike. Looked like he had Rey with him.” He slips an arm around Leia’s waist, gently holding her against him. “ Hope they’re okay.” 

“ I’m sure they are.” Leia doesn’t resist, doesn’t bother correcting the name, either. Calling him _Kylo_ outloud had been much easier than replacing his name in her thoughts where it had taken years of constant self-reprimand to get into the habit. It had helped in a way; he became someone else, and she could mourn, after a fashion, the boy he once was. But now, with Rey’s influence, Leia can see glimmers of her son as she knew him surfacing through the dark shroud of Snope’s interference. _Kylo, Ben_ … Something tells her he’s not quite one or the other now. She rests her hands on Han’s arm, back of her head on his chest. “ Rey can handle Ben’s special brand of stupidity.” 

Han’s hot breath stirs the hair on her crown. “ Don’t doubt it, but I meant I hope they’re _okay_. As in, getting along. Talking, laughing, having a good time.” He pauses for a beat, then adds, “ And using protection.” 

“ I doubt they’ve gotten that far yet. Ben can’t go five minutes without putting his foot in his mouth. Kind of like you.” Leia chuckles. Gemma’s current crop must be stronger than usual because Leia doesn’t feel even the slightest twinge while thinking about her wayward child. Nothing but a large quantity of hope that the indomitable Rey will continue to challenge her misguided son. 

“ Charmed you, didn’t it?” Han brings his other arm up, hand sliding across her middle, squeezing carefully. “ Every girl likes a scoundrel.” 

“ I have a few things to say about that, but I’m feeling too good to argue the point.” 

“ Maybe next time, then.”

Leia can feel the warmth spreading through her gut, into her limbs. Loose and carefree. The hardness pressing into the small of her back sends sparks of heat swimming through the pleasant lethargy. 

Finn and Poe are laughing, bumping shoulders and play-wrestling for some small bit of food. Probably a cookie. 

Leia steps away, holding onto the big calloused hand, looking up into the shadowed hazel eyes. “ C’mon. I don’t feel like getting caught in my own kitchen by some youngster looking for the bathroom.” 

“ Of course, princess.” Han has his best smirk on his tanned face, quirking one corner of his mouth higher than the other. 

Gods, Leia loves that smirk. She leads him up the stairs and stops as he pulls back on her, halting her near the top. She turns and he’s just below her eye level, looking down as he looks up and his hands are on her hips and her fingers are in his hair and she kisses him hard and he drags his hands down her legs and pushes up under her dress and into the openings of her granny panties to cup her cheeks and she moans into his mouth as he picks her up. 

This is probably a bad idea. For a variety of reasons, not the least of which is Han’s back injury just last year. But he gets them up the last few steps and only stumbles once against the doorframe of her bedroom. Leia holds on tightly until she feels him bending over the bed, grunting with the effort, then she lets go and bounces on her extra firm mattress. Han laughs and eases his way on top of her, hitching the hem of her loose dress up to her waist, pressing her small body into the bed.

Leia revels in his weight, his stubble scratching her cleavage as he tugs at the low v-neck of her halter dress. She reaches up and unties it, flipping the two halves down to expose her breasts to the searching mouth. It feels good, of course. It always feels good. The feeling bad part doesn’t come until later, when she’s making breakfast for one and cursing herself for falling for it once again. 

But for now, Han’s tongue on her nipple is distracting. His hand tangled in her complicated braid is pleasant. His other hand inside her damp underwear is most enjoyable. 

Leia moans quietly as Han’s thumb brushes slowly across her clit, his fingers dipping lower down to tease at her opening. She has a bottle of lube in her bathroom, because middle age has very few physical benefits, but she knows Han likes to make her wet by his own effort, even if it takes a bit longer than in their youth. And honestly, since his return, Leia has noticed a marked change in her body’s response time to stimulation; drawn out foreplay is now more by choice than necessity. Though wonderful either way. 

She can hear the muffled sounds of music and laughter outside. Random fireworks exploding by the pond. The front door opens, muted conversation, footsteps heading to the downstairs bathroom. Leia wiggles beneath Han and gets him high up enough to get her hands on his button and zipper. He bites his lip and sighs in pleasure as she squeezes the swollen length through the denim before releasing his cock into the chilly air. A few firm strokes to bring him to fullness. He kisses her neck and bucks into her hand. She grinds against his palm, spreading her free-flowing juices. 

Footsteps heading back through the house, high pitched giggling, front door closing. 

Han leans back, out of her reach, and expertly slips her panties down and off her legs, dropping them over the side of the bed without a second glance. Leia tugs his jeans down his hips and manually guides his cock to her entrance, settling the tip securely inside before letting go and letting Han take over. 

An easy push, their bodies flush. 

Writhing happily, Leia wraps her legs around the man’s thighs and slides her arms under his t-shirt, over his back. She gasps as he thrusts into her and lifts her hips to meet each motion. Han leans on his forearms and buries his face against her neck, sucking lightly. 

No words. Only small moans and quiet panting. Whisper of fabric and squelch of fluid. Distant murmurs from outside quickly followed by a flare of light and crack of thunder so loud the glass rattles in the panes. 

They both jump and Han’s hold on her tightens to near painful as he spurts inside her, rhythm quickly breaking down into erratic twitches and a final shove against her wanton flesh. Leia nudges a hand between their bodies to finish herself off, turns her head to kiss his sweaty temple. She manages to land one peck before he clumsily shuffles down her body and plants his face between her legs. Clever tongue quick and agile on her cunt. Heated gaze locked with her own. 

Rain slams against the windows. People are shouting. The front door bangs open.

Leia puts a hand in Han’s grey hair and rides the blissful waves of orgasm. A little cry slips free as his tongue caresses her over-sensitized nerves and she bites her lip to keep the volume in check, though with the noise outside it’s doubtful anyone would hear her if she screamed like a banshee.

Han finally lifts his head and her hand drops back to the bed. He’s grinning, soft and satisfied and Leia’s certain her own expression is similar. She drags him back up for kisses, their mixed fluids smearing between them. This takes her back. Those long ago days of quickies in the Falcon, or up against the bathroom wall at Maz’s place, or in the crow’s nest of the Black Pearl. 

When they were so young and stupid. Flushed with their recent triumph, when it seemed like all their worries were behind them and there was nothing they couldn’t accomplish. Together. 

“ General!” Poe’s voice travels clearly through the house.

Leia groans, irritated. Not with Poe- she knows only a true emergency would send him to her private chambers, as it were. No, she’s pissed at Fate, for not giving her even one uneventful evening to screw her ex in peace. “ Up here, Poe!” 

Hurried footfalls up the stairs. And another set that has to belong to Finn.

Han is already moving away, rolling off the bed and to his feet; tucking back in and fumbling with the zipper. Leia sits up and swings her legs over the side of the bed, adjusting her dress over her lap. No way to hide what they’ve been doing, with her disarrayed hair and wrinkled dress. She’s pulling the halter up just as Poe reaches the threshold. Leia gets a glimpse of Finn’s wide eyes before the young man jerks his gaze to the floor, muttering a string of shocked apologies.

Poe is more apologetic and less shocked than his amor. “ Sorry, General. Han, sir.” 

“ What’s the fuss, kid?” Han skirts around the edge of the bed to face them. Leia’s glad it’s too dim to see any wet spots on his jeans. 

“ Just got a call from Rey.” Poe meets Leia’s gaze with his own steady one. 

There’s a flicker of panic inside her and she senses the unnatural stillness of her ex nearby. Both fearing the same thing, not wanting to suspect the worst, but readying themselves for it anyway. “ Is she okay?” Leia catches a few stray hairs in the knot she ties behind her neck. Her buzz is gone.

“ She’s okay. They’re at the sheriff's office in Mos Eisley. Kylo is being held for assaulting a deputy.” Poe’s expression is free of judgment and Leia is grateful for it. Any anger the young man feels on the behalf of Leia and Rey is carefully hidden behind his game-face. 

He might be doing it for Finn’s benefit as much as hers; the boy does get flustered easily. At the moment, Finn is pacing back and forth on the landing, looking ready to bolt down the stairs and to the rescue. Leia rises and finds her flip flops- one near the bed, the other flung into the hamper- and grabs her purse from the dresser. “ Is she being charged with anything, or just Kylo?” She pulls two checkbooks from the bottom dresser drawer, mind already churning out account balances and overdraft coverage. 

“ Just Kylo.” Poe confirms. Han sighs. 

“ Screw Kylo! We have to get Rey!” Finn’s panicked outburst is immediately followed by a mumbled, “ I’m sorry,” even as the other two men both quietly reassure him.

“ We’ll get her, kid. Promise.” 

“ Easy, buddy. We’re going to.” 

Mos Eisley? Did he actually take Rey to the old tower? Leia drops both checkbooks into her bag. Romantic nostalgia aside, the location is far from ideal; bailing him out will be more difficult than she’d like. Of course Kylo had to be arrested in the most corrupt town in the county. She glances at herself in the mirror. Gods, she looks like death warmed over, not well fucked. Well, she’ll fit right in with the other trash bailing out their kith and kin from the drunk tank. 

Han is standing behind her, big hand on her shoulder. “ I can do this. You don’t have to go.” Trying to spare her this added burden. Still trying to apologize after all these years.

“ No.” Leia shakes her head and slings the hobo bag over her shoulder. “ You and Chewie go pick up his bike at the tower. I doubt anyone else would go up there in this weather, so it should still be there.”

“ I’m going with you.” Finn is in the bedroom now. Face set, fists clenched. “ To get Rey.” 

Leia pauses, then nods. “ Get yourself under control or you’ll be sitting in the truck with the windows rolled up.”

“ Yes’m.” 

“ Poe, will you take over here? Leave anything that didn’t make it to cover before the storm, we’ll clean up in the morning. Just make sure people get home safe, or have them crash here for the night, okay?” 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

“ Godspeed, gentlemen.” Leia grits her teeth and strides out of the room, focusing on the thud of heavy feet behind her in order to ignore the thundering pulse in her temple. 

_tbc_


	13. Come, Let's Away to Prison!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's jump right back in!!!

**Chapter 13: Come, Let’s Away to Prison!**

It isn’t Rey’s first time in the back of a police cruiser. There had been a couple of instances of underage drinking, way back in her hazy high school days. One of driving without a license, one of a failed hitchhiking attempt. All had been characterized by distracted officers already thinking about the paperwork in their futures, concerned about her but way too busy to ask more than the most basic questions about her background.

This time is different. The deputy is brisk and professional, instructing her to put her hands on the back of the car and keep them there while she’s frisked with an impersonal touch, and then guided into the back of a car with an efficient hand on the head.

From there she has a perfect view of Kylo getting into an altercation with not just one, but two of the patrolmen. His face, contorted with rage and spattered with rain, flashes garish red and blue in the cars’ lights as the patrolmen subdue him. They waste little time trying to be careful before putting him on his stomach in the mud with a knee on his back. He’s still yelling as they cuff him, things about backwoods redneck pigs and ignorant motherfuckers and the things his lawyer will do that will make them oh, so sorry.

“Car Nineteen, what’s the status on that trespassing complaint at the fire tower, over?” The woman’s heavy accent comes through static on the radio, slow and unconcerned.

“Dispatch, this is Nineteen responding,” The mud-spattered, displeased deputy’s tone is much more clipped as he squelches into the front seat of the car. “We’ve had a bit of a situation with the one kid, turned into a 10-26 and we’re going to need to bring him into county, over.” 

The slow voice perks up a little. “Any officers injured? You need some backup, Car Nineteen?”

“Only injury is to my uniform,” the deputy grouses. “We’ve got the guy contained. Real piece of work, this one. We’re bringing him and the female 10-95 over to you. Car Nineteen out.”

Rey, luckily not in handcuffs, drops her face into her hands and groans.

Mos Eisley turns out to be the county seat, and their police station is located in an old stone building with a tall clock tower. The sheriff’s offices and holding cells occupy the ground floors, and Rey soon finds herself, still un-cuffed and un-arrested, seated in an uncomfortable metal chair next to a deputy’s desk. 

The molasses-accented dispatcher heard earlier over the radio, Deputy Hooks, is slowly filling out paperwork. Every so often her heavily-mascaraed blue eyes flick towards Rey, particularly when Kylo yells creative threats from one of the holding cells in the back of the station. 

“Boyfriend got a bit of a temper?” Deputy Hooks drawls.

Rey takes a deep breath. “You could say that, ma’am.” She holds Hooks’ gaze without blinking. “But he’s not my boyfriend.”

Hooks regards her silently for a long moment, then nods and continues writing. “You two come from over Takodana way?”

“Yes. We work at the renfaire.”

This gets a surprising reaction as Hooks’ makeup-festooned eyes light up. “Hey, I love that place! Me ‘n my girls always go out there during Highland Fling weekend.” She leans towards Rey with a conspiratorial wink. “Men in uniform lost their appeal some time ago, but there’s nothin’ like a man in a kilt!”

Rey smiles weakly. “Yeah, that’s in a couple of weeks. It’s very…popular, from what I’ve heard.”

“Aww, you’re a newbie then,” Deputy Hooks clucks her tongue a little. “Not surprising you got mixed up with some of the riff raff.” She jerks her head towards the holding cell, unseen from her desk but certainly not unheard as Kylo launches into yet another tirade about not receiving a phone call. “We get a bunch of those assholes every year, never fails.”

“Um,” Rey has to stop and clear her throat. She’s been desperately trying to come up with a good spiel to defend Kylo a little, but he’s upped the volume of his tirade and it silences her. 

“Rey! Are you out there? I know you’re out there! Are these inbred shits pressing charges? What the hell is going on out there? This is a violation of about 57 of my civil rights! And I’m gonna sue this shitty little sinkhole of a town and after I own it, I’m going to kick all of your asses out on the highway! Rey! Call. My. Lawyer! His name’s Nute Gunray and his number is 313-…”

A jumble of other loud, male voices overtake Kylo’s as he is instructed, in no uncertain terms, to sit his ass down and shut his trash mouth before someone shuts it for him. Rey hears what sounds like furniture breaking before the yelling becomes completely unintelligible.

“He’s not so bad,” she begins, and then as an officer in the back threatens tazing, she amends the statement. “Okay. Sometimes he’s a huge asshole. A lot of the time.” A little voice inside her head urges her to apologize, but for what, exactly? For Kylo being a dick? For liking him? “It’s been a rough week,” she finishes lamely.

“Honey,” Hooks replies. “If all y’all had done was climb the fire tower, hell, we can’t put all the locals who try _that_ stunt in lockup. For polite first-timers we’d have written you both tickets and sent you on your way.” Her mouth thins. “But we take assault on a deputy pretty seriously around here, and when we’re done processing him we’re going to keep him in custody pending arraignment.” 

The commotion in the back has quieted without any telltale _zzzztt_ of a tazer being deployed. “When will that happen?” Rey asks.

“Well, Monday being the Fourth, that’s a holiday, so no sooner than Tuesday.”

Oh, if Kylo had been pissed before, he was going to fucking _freak_. 

Hooks’ expression softens a little. “But you’re not under arrest, and you’ll be free to go in just a little bit.” 

Hooks picks up Rey’s phone from the corner of her desk where it rests forlornly on her ID and a crumpled twenty dollar bill. “You can call Tall Dark and Angry’s lawyer if you want, but if you got family, or friends, I’d suggest you try them instead.”

As soon as Poe answers, Rey’s two or three Perfectly Logical Explanations fly right out of her head, her voice fails her and she has to swallow hard. Deputy Hooks, undoubtedly not unused to the experience of young women crying at her desk, turns her attention to her paperwork again. Rey takes a fast breath. “Poe.”

Immediately his voice deepens with concern. “Rey. Where are you?” Finn’s indistinct voice sounds somewhere nearby. “What happened, are you okay?”

Rey nods several times while she mentally commands herself to speak slowly and calmly. “I’m fine. We’re fine. Kylo and me. We’re…in Mos Eisley. At the county lockup.”

She hears a muffled flurry as though Poe is covering the phone to have a quick conversation with Finn. Then he comes back on the line. “But you’re sure you’re okay? What happened?”

“I’ll give you the whole story later. I’m not being arrested or held or anything. But they’re charging Kylo with assault on a deputy and he’s in jail. For the weekend, apparently. So maybe -”

Poe’s voice is determined. “I’ll get ahold of the General. And we’ll be there as fast as we can. Don’t worry.”

She’s still staring at her phone when Deputy Hooks hands over Rey’s ID and wallet along with a form on a clipboard. “This states that we’ve returned your property to you. Sign, please.”

When Rey does as she’s asked, the deputy takes the clipboard back with a slight smile. “Well, that’s that. You can wait in the lobby for your ride. Don’t think I need to tell you not to go climbing any more abandoned fire towers.”

I, um…” Rey has a feeling she already knows the answer, but asks anyhow. “Is there any way I can see my….friend?”

Deputy Hooks’ smile fades as she files the property form away. “Normally, I don’t think that would be a problem, but he’s finally quiet and we don’t want to get him all riled up again.” She gives Rey a pointed look. “The more fuss he makes, the harder it’s going to be for him.”

Rey nods. “I know. I’m sorry.”

The deputy pats her arm consolingly. “No big thing, honey. And lesson one...don’t get into a habit of apologizing for somebody else’s mistakes. Once you start doing that, it’s a slippery slope.” 

Waiting in the lobby for Poe and Finn gives Rey time to think about the last few hours, during which she’s seen both the best and worst of Kylo Ren. She starts a mental pros and cons list.

Under pros would go the fact that when you get past all the bluster and bad attitude he is...well. What _is_ he, really? Calling someone decent wasn’t actually a pro, but yes, he’d been decent, very much so, on their date. He’d been nice. Considerate. Sweet, even, a few times. Like with making sure she wore pants, even though he’d done so in a kind of overbearing way. And by packing an assortment of delicious picnic food, and he’d given her _actual fireworks_ , how many people could say that? The single date she’d had with him topped just about every other date she’d been on, ever, if you didn’t count the whole getting arrested part.

Also, he’s a good kisser. Really good. She rubs her thumb along her lower lip and remembers how his mouth felt on hers. _Fireworks_. 

Kylo is all fireworks; that’s what is so exciting about him. But they aren’t just fairytale fireworks, they’re the ugly emotional kind too that’s also the worst thing about him. The cons lists starts scrolling in her head, and quickly outpaces the pros list. Terrible temper. Mean. Vindictive. Mommy issues. Daddy issues. Anger management problems. Impulse control problems. A distinct inability to talk about feelings.

Definitely not relationship material. Even if being with him sometimes feels like finding the last missing puzzle piece of herself. Feels like coming up from underwater and breathing again.

 _Stop being a sap and get a grip_. Rey takes a moment to rub her tired eyes. When she opens them again, a battered pickup has pulled up outside the building’s front entrance. 

**XOXOXOX**

Leia’s not sure how much more of this shit she can take. Regular faire drama, run-of-the-mill cash flow crises...those are a pain in the ass, but manageable if one takes into consideration a certain level of judiciously applied substance abuse.

But now, with the Huxodus, followed a few days later by the arrest of the faire’s headline performer (and the sole fucking fruit of her womb) for assaulting a police officer, she’s pretty sure to be bound for a stay at the local psychiatric hospital.

“Finn, I know you’re worried about Rey, but she said she’s fine. You can ease off the gas a little bit.” Normally Leia’s more comfortable driving, but the truck is a stick so she lets Finn chauffeur while she calls her family attorney for advice.

“I’m sorry to have to give you bad news when you’re already dealing with that mess at the faire,” George tells her. “ But that’s Judge J. B. Duhutt’s courtroom, and I guarantee he’s out of town at his fishing cabin for the holiday.”

Leia groans inwardly. “Oh, that’s not good. Duhutt and I...we kind of have a history.”

Leia doesn’t elaborate, so George continues. “Your son goes by his stage name. Is it possible Duhutt won’t make the connection?”

“Don’t know. How likely is it that the court documents will show his given name?”

George is silent for a long moment, and she takes the time to light a cigarette. Finn surreptitiously rolls down his window a few inches.

“Well, it depends on what county is able to dig up before Tuesday. The files regarding the...incident from Ben’s childhood are sealed. But his emancipation suit is public record. I’d say we should prepare for Duhutt knowing who he really is.” George pauses, and Leia can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. “ Your history with him...is it something we could use to get him to recuse himself?”

Leia’s eyes narrow with the old but perfectly, infuriatingly clear memory. J.B. Duhutt at a bar, crowding her against the counter, taking every opportunity to grope her, laughing with his friends, knowing he’d get away with it when she threatened to press charges. _“In that outfit, honey? Ain’t no court nowhere gonna think you don’t want it. Cuz ya do.”_

She shakes off the anger and shame she still feels over it. “Probably not. He’d stick it to Kylo just for fun.” She sighs. “Better if none of us show up in court, even. Duhutt would remember Han better than he’d remember me, probably.”

George doesn’t ask her to elaborate. “Well, hopefully it won’t matter. If your son’s lawyer is worth his fee, he’ll immediately try to get the charge reduced. Please call me if you need anything else, I’m in town all weekend.”

“Thanks, George. I mean it.” As she rings off Leia takes a huge drag on her cigarette, and her shaking hand dumps ash on her shirt. “Hell.”

“You okay, General?” Finn gives her a sidelong look while she tries to avoid a conspicuous burn hole over her sternum.

“I don’t know, Finn. I wasn’t holding up so great even before this happened.”

He nods, and to Leia’s relief doesn’t offer platitudes. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. Just…: she trails off, unsure of what she’s wanting to ask for. “Thanks.”

The police station is on a hill, and it takes a little negotiating for Finn to get the truck parked. “Remind me to have Chewie teach you how to drive a stick correctly,” she tells him as they head inside.

Rey is seated on a plastic chair in the lobby. Finn holds the door for Leia but charges ahead of her as soon as they’re inside.

“Rey! We got here as soon as we could, are you okay?” He scoops her bodily out of the chair and into a hug that clearly is more for his reassurance than hers.

Leia can’t help but smile at Rey’s _I’m being squeezed like a lemon_ face over Finn’s shoulder. “Finn, let the poor girl have some air,” she tells him.

He backs off just slightly. “Just as long as I know you’re okay,” he says to Rey. 

She nods, looking pretty unsure of it. “I’m okay. Really, it was a great night until it totally wasn’t.” 

“Come here.” Leia enfolds Rey in her arms and pets her head like a child, even though this particular child is a few inches taller than she is. “You must be exhausted.”

“I’m okay,” Rey repeats. “Really, I’m probably not who you have to worry about right now.”

Finn glowers at even the suggestion of Kylo, but Leia just nods. “All right, then. Tell me what happened.”

Rey gives a pretty thorough accounting, first of the date that involved a picnic on top of the trespassed-upon fire tower, and fireworks (some blushing happens here, so Leia envisions first base, at least. Probably second. Kylo isn’t smooth, but he’s intense, and that buys a lot of sexual abandon in young girls). Then the rain, and climbing down to a police greeting, at which point Kylo loses his shit, repeatedly and at the expense of not one but two police officers.

“Let’s talk outside. I need a smoke.” She is going to have lung cancer before the end of summer at this rate.

As Rey recounts the story of Kylo yelling from the holding cells, being threatened with tazing, Leia figures he’s lucky if they even let him make a phone call tonight. “So he did manage to quiet down, after awhile?”

Rey nods. “But they wouldn’t let me see him.”

Leia’s phone rumbles the opening bass riff from “Walk On The Wild Side” and she rolls her eyes. Chewie keeps changing her ringtones every chance he gets. “Hello.”

“Well. How’s it going? Have you seen him?” Han sounds very, very tired.

“Not yet. Apparently he wasn’t super cooperative when they brought him in, so I’m trying to figure out the best angle before I talk to anybody about it.”

“Probably smart.” Han apparently turns his face away from the phone to relay the information to whoever is with him. “We got to the fire tower before the impound truck did and picked up his bike.”

“That’s good, at least.”

“Do you want me to come there? Maybe we could talk to him together, we could -”

Leia shakes her head even though he’s not there to see it because she is _that_ sure this would be a bad idea. “No, Han. I think...he’s just so angry right now, he’s probably not even going to want to see me. And at this point I don’t even know if they’ll let me in to talk to him.”

“He should know that we’re here for him.” Han’s voice is getting worked up - he’s just like his son when he wants something.

“Babe, he knows, and it just pisses him off more because that’s how he is.” Leia feels for Han, and for Kylo, she really does, but right now she has very little patience for men not being able to handle their feelings constructively. “He’ll be fine. He’s safe and locked up tight, probably alone so that they don’t have to worry about him messing with anybody.”

“Okay, I get it. I _do_.” Han’s voice clamps down on the word before she can argue with him about the many ways in which he probably does not actually get it. “But I want you to try to talk to him before you leave tonight. And then we’re going to call George first thing in the morning.”

“I already called George on the way over. He’s working on things for us,” she reassures. And rather than argue, she caves on his first point. “I’ll try to talk to him tonight, if they’ll let me.”

Han is satisfied with this and she turns her phone off before putting it away.

Only for it to immediately come back to life in her pocket, the boring two-tone ring alerting her to a call coming from someone outside her normal social and business circles. Leia frowns at the unfamiliar ID and walks away from Finn and Rey, back toward the building. She takes a deep drag off the remains of her cigarette and accepts the call. “ Hello?” 

“ Ms. Leia Organa?” The male voice over the line is clipped and professional, and doesn’t wait for her to respond. “ My name is Nute Gunray, with the law firm Sloane, Thrawn, & Tarkin, and I’m calling on behalf of First Order Entertainment in regards to your son’s most recent detainment.”

 _Well, I guess he did manage to get his phone call._ Leia leans forward, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead to the rough brick wall. “ I’m listening.” 

**XOXOXOX**

When Leia hangs up she has to grudgingly admit to being impressed by the swiftness and efficiency of her son’s legal team. She drops the cig butt and crushes it under her heel as she turns back to the truck where Finn and Rey are hiding from the light drizzle. Leia can see their hazy figures through the spattered windshield. Finn is behind the wheel and leaning toward Rey as he listens. Rey is in the middle of the seat, looking down at her hands as she talks animatedly. 

The two instantly go quiet as Leia opens the passenger side door, both looking at her expectantly. Rey scoots closer to Finn to make room, but Leia shakes her head. “ If you two don’t mind waiting a bit longer, I’m going to try to finagle my way in to see him.” 

“ Sure.” 

“ Of course.”

Leia nods her thanks and shuts the truck door. She wants to light up again, but there’s no point in dragging this out longer than necessary, so instead she straightens her shoulders and heads back into the station. The first person to acknowledge her presence at the front desk is a woman about half her age with double the love for make-up. Leia reads her badge and manages a rueful smile. “ Evening, Deputy Hooks. My deviant son was brought in tonight and I was hoping you could let me give him my whole I’m-not-mad-just-disappointed speil in person.” She hopes she’s exuding the right amount of harried single parent to elicit sympathy instead of scorn. 

Deputy Hooks seems open to it. “ You wouldn’t happen to be referring to the Screamin’ Demon brought in with that young lady, wouldya?” She returns the small smile and glances toward the back of the building before looking back to Leia. “ Well, he’s been quiet for a while now.” She taps her fingers on the stack of papers, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek before coming to a decision. “ Let me see your ID, make sure that’s all kosher, and I’ll ask the officer on duty if it’s okay to give you a few minutes.” 

“ I appreciate it, thanks.” Leia digs around in her oversized bag for her wallet. 

It takes no time at all for Deputy Hooks to verify Leia’s information and get approval from the holding cell. “ They said as long as he behaves himself you can have up to fifteen minutes, but if he causes another commotion…” Deputy Hooks shrugs.

“ I understand. Thank you.” Leia definitely understands. She follows the deputy to the back of the building, stopping at the desk there to have her bag searched and a quick patting down. Satisfied she’s not carrying anything dangerous or illegal, Deputy Hooks returns to the front desk and the remaining deputy unlocks the heavy duty door that leads to the drunk tank and holding cells.

The drunk tank, which is simply the largest old fashioned barred cell in the room, is filled to capacity. And creepily subdued. Leia passes by without glancing in, but she can hear the muffled conversations and whispers as she heads down the hall. Next, there’s a much smaller cell occupied by two very wasted females, and then another cell the size of a walk-in closet against the farthest wall. This is where Leia finds Kylo.

He’s sitting on the hard bench, leaning back against the concrete block wall, arms crossed over his chest. Staring angrily at the ceiling.

Leia takes him in, checking for injuries. His feathers seem undeniably ruffled, but he’s physically no worse for wear. She speaks up before he spots her and can begin a shouting match. “ Your lawyer called.” Lead with the good news. 

Kylo’s whole body jerks, startled, then he’s jumping to his feet, all pissed off eyebrows and indignant rage.

Leia stops him cold just a step away from the iron bars with a stern shake of her head. He’s said enough tonight, Leia is certain, now it’s time for his stubborn ass to listen. “ He says you currently have two options. You can get out tonight on a ludicrous amount of bail with a court appearance in a couple of weeks where you’ll agree to plead guilty to trespassing and obstructing an officer and receive time served, a hefty fine, and a shit ton of community service.” She levels him with her best This Is Serious face. “ Or. You can rot in the state pen for ten years for assaulting an officer of the law.” Leia can’t help but add a deadpan, “ And you’ll be unemployed.” Gunray had made it very clear that with the current situation involving Hux and First Order Entertainment, the company has neither the money nor the inclination to keep bailing out this particular asset whose emotional baggage is quickly beginning to outweigh his profitability. 

Kylo wraps both hands around the bars, knuckles turning white from the pressure. “ Where’s Rey?” Kylo’s voice is low and steady, a marked contrast to his rigid posture. 

Leia rolls her eyes, though a tiny bubble of warmth settles in her chest. “ In the truck with Finn. They’re not charging her with anything.” She pauses, shifting her bag more comfortably on her shoulder, then prods the emo-bear once more. “ She was pretty shaken up.” Kylo looks down, his mouth a thin line. Leia lets her statement sink in a few more moments before offering, “ But I think she’ll be okay.” 

Some of the tension leaves Kylo’s shoulders, his fingers slipping from the bars to hide in his pockets. He side-eyes the deputy on guard behind Leia. “ You know this is total bullshit--”

“ Doesn’t matter.” Leia cuts him off again. “ Bullshit or not, this is how it is. You made a choice tonight; it was not in your best interest or Rey’s. And now there are consequences and you get to make another choice.” She steps closer, looking up to catch his angry gaze. “ I hope you do better this time around.” 

Kylo huffs through his nose; still pissed off, still railing against the perceived unfairness of it all. Leia can see the flex in his jaw as he grinds his teeth. After another minute of sullen silence, he gives the barest nod of his head. “ I’ll take the deal.” 

Leia keeps the sense of relief off her face, instead pursing her lips in a thoughtful manner, as though weighing the sincerity of her son’s answer. “ Okay. I’ll call Gunray.” She steps away and waits for the guard to precede her back up the hall. 

This went much better than she expected. Not as well as she’d hoped, but she’ll take it. And if Leia has any other karmic favors coming her way, then maybe Kylo’s head won’t explode when he learns that the final condition for his release is to be remanded into the custody of a responsible party. 

Namely, Leia. 

_Lucky lucky me._

**XOXOXOX**

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks to everyone who reads, kudos, or comments!!!


	14. Chapter 14: Since There’s No Help, Come Let Us Kiss and Part (or Not Part,  That’d Be Good Too)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang meets about how to save the faire (again), Luke and Rey have an enlightening talk, Rey and Kylo have a different kind of talk, and Finn and Poe do...less talking. (Truly this chapter is not ALL talking, we promise)!

**Chapter 14: Since There’s No Help, Come Let Us Kiss and Part (or Not Part, That’d Be Good Too)**

Leia is _exhausted_. Usually she doesn’t feel this destroyed until the end of faire season.

She’d be lying if she said it didn’t make her think of just shuttering the entire damn place and walking away.

But thinking and doing, they aren’t the same thing, so she’s got to try to keep it going for the sake of all the people still depending on her. So she calls a meeting of what’s basically become her executive team. Han and Chewie. Artie and Christopher Potts. Oscar and Sabine as performer reps and Hera repping the remaining vendors. Luke. Poe, with Finn and Rey for moral support. 

And this time she’s not holding the fucking meeting at her house, because she’s got zero time for cleaning up bottles and ashtrays right now. She’s pretty sure she hasn’t done dishes in over a week. For that matter, she’s going to throw away all of her dishes. Housekeeping is for losers.

So they’re at The Castle, with tables pushed together, sharing pizzas that Maz ordered from Dominoes and had delivered.

Leia rubs her eyes. “So, run me through it again. Who’ve we still got?”

Artie leans across the table and pats her arm. “It’s not as bad as all that, my dear. The quitter list is shorter than you think it is, so I’ll read you that.” Artie is partial to painstakingly handwritten lists on narrow-ruled legal pads. “We lost the aerialists, The Bawdy Milkmaid, Bread and Circuses – “

Leia lights a cigarette as she thinks about the troop of juggling bakers. “Good, saves me from having to fire them. I was getting too many complaints from faire patrons about getting hit with baguettes.”

Poe snorts. “Please. Anybody coming to a renfaire who _doesn’t_ expect to get hit with some food is just dumb.”

Artie continues as Finn and Sabine get up to help Maz distribute refilled pitchers of beer and iced tea. “ – so, as I said, Bread and Circuses, the Gypsy Caravan –“

“The Traveler Caravan,” a chorus of voices correct.

“Yes, I apologize, I forgot about the nomenclature change on that one,” Artie apologizes before taking a sip of her tea, “the Traveler Caravan, and Pietro the Poet. That’s it for the name acts.”

“That’s not bad,” Han shrugs, and Chewie grunts what seems to be agreement. The women at the table share their opinions that Pietro the Poet could have been better named Pietro the Pervert and the place is better off without him. 

Artie nods at the comments and says nothing.

Leia knows that look, of consideration, how to soften the blow of something harsh. “What else?”

Artie turns a page. “Budweiser has pulled their sponsorship.”

There’s a long beat of silence until Poe abruptly picks up a pitcher with enough force to slop beer over the side.

“That’s Yuengling,” Maz calls out warningly, and Poe visibly grinds his teeth before setting it carefully back on the table.”

“Seriously?” Finn asks him. “How is that helpful?”

“I wasn’t really going to throw it,” Poe mutters, before turning to Leia. “Seriously, though, no beer? I don’t mean to be a pessimist, here, but that’s going to _really_ put a damper on attendance.”

At this, Chewie puts his big, hairy-knuckled hands on the table and pushes himself to his full height. Then he hooks a thumb behind his belt buckle and launches into a spiel that has everyone squinting at him in confusion until Han waves him to a halt.

“What my man here is trying to say is that he’s got a buddy runs a microbrewery about an hour’s drive west and Chewie talked him into bringing his truck out here for the next few weekends and doing pours of some of their more popular stuff…saison, IPA, some of that fancy hipster shit. So we should be okay in the short run.” When Leia opens her mouth to ask, Han puts a hand on hers. “He’s worked it out so we’ll still make a profit. Don’t worry.”

She is about four million light years past worry at this point, but Leia simply nods and stubs out her cigarette. “Did we lose any other vendors?”

Artie shakes her head. “Most don’t want to leave space they’ve already paid for. So that’s a good thing.” She turns another page on her legal pad. “Which brings us to our high-dollar acts, the Knights of Ren and the Knights of the Storm…I believe we don’t have representatives from either group here, at the moment?”

Leia knows that Kylo has ignored her text about this meeting, it still shows as _delivered_ on her phone. “No, I –“

“Um, that’s not entirely true,” Rey clears her throat and stands up. “I…they know what’s going on, obviously. And I asked them to please send someone, since Kylo…you know.”

A guy who has been kind of hanging out by the bar for the last few minutes starts walking towards them, and Leia recognizes the one she thinks of as the Short Knight of Ren. He smiles at her and bobs his head a little. “Ma’am.”

He seems so uncertain of his welcome that Leia motions him to a chair and has someone pour him a beer. “Gianni, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She grunts. “Well, you’re polite at least. Go ahead and give me your bad news. I can take it.”

He looks over at Rey, who makes a fierce face and mouths something at him. He clears his throat. “I’m guessing you already know the Knights’ contractual obligation ended after last weekend.”

Leia looks over at Artie, who consults some notes on her pad before nodding confirmation. “Yes.”

“With Kylo’s...legal thing...he’s going to be staying, obviously. But some of the the other guys have made plans. Bram and Savion got a gig in Texas. Christopher is trying to make something happen in New York. So they’ll be leaving this week.” 

“I expected as much. I know they have families to support, so I can hardly blame them.” Leia watches Han fill her beer cup. “And you?”

Gianni shifts in his chair. “Well, no family to support on my end, I’m pretty free. And I could probably line up some stunt work pretty easily if I wanted to go back out to LA, but...I don’t.” He gives a little half smile. “I’d like to stay, and I’m here to say that I’m yours if you’ll have me, ma’am.”

Rey smiles at him, and Han leans around Leia to give the kid a hard pat on the back.

“We can still put an act together, Gianni and I,” Rey says, “and Kylo, when he gets out of his sulk –“

“Not counting on _that_ happening soon,” Poe chimes in.

Everyone starts talking at once, and at high volume, until Leia realizes that Gianni, who is apparently used to slightly less chaotic discussion, has got that deer-in-headlights look.

She stands and does a two-finger whistle that silences everyone and makes Chewie grimace. “Everybody shut up a minute!” She turns to Rey and Gianni. “I gather you two have a plan?”

Gianni and Rey both nod, and he gestures across the table at her. “It was Rey’s idea, but I’m on board.”

Rey hesitates for a moment as some unspoken communication goes on between her and Gianni and she finally rolls her eyes and begins.

“Okay, well. Yeah. It’s an idea, and it could solve a lot of problems, like how to fill the spots left open by the Knight shows. But it’s going to need cooperation from a lot of different people, and a lot more training.” She stops for what seems to be a dramatic pause, before continuing, words tumbling over one another, snowballing faster. “We officially merge the Knights of Ren and the Knights of the Storm, including the understudy performers who’ve been training with us for the past few weeks.” She grins, and reaches over to put an arm around Finn. “Finn’s been working really hard, and I know that he and some of the other newer performers will be ready soon.” She seems to be hoping that her own intensity will convince everyone, herself included.

Leia looks over at Luke, who hasn’t said a word the entire time, just sitting there in his fucking gray hoodie like an ancient hobo. “Well? It’s the first idea _I’ve_ heard from anyone. What’s your opinion?”

Luke remains silent, staring at his plate, and enough time passes that she has time to tap another cigarette out of the pack and settle it between her lips.

Han puts a hand on her arm. “Maybe slow down a little with the cancer sticks?”

Leia looks down at her lighter. “Seriously? These are the only thing getting me through the day without Schedule 3 narcotics.” But she takes the cigarette out of her mouth. Maybe Han has a point. She’s been feeling a little short of breath the past couple of days. Not that she doesn’t have damn good reason.

Luke finally answers, his words slow and measured. “I think that my opinion is probably not one that matters a whole lot right now, in the long list of people who you’re going to need on board with Rey’s plan.”

Leia grinds her teeth at his non-answer. “Nevertheless, I want you to tell me if you think it’s worth a try.”

Her brother locks eyes with her, and suddenly she feels that thing that sometimes happens between them, that understanding that doesn’t require agreement or approval. 

“I think it’s worth a try,” he replies.

A muted cheer actually goes up around the table. Poe grabs Finn in a hug, and Finn reels in Rey from one side for a three-way. She looks at Gianni over the boys’ shoulders and mouths an easily-read _Thank you_.

Leia turns to receive a brief, tender kiss from Han, and then looks up to get a very scratchy one from Chewie, on her cheek, after which he gives Han the same treatment. 

On her other side, Gianni is getting handshakes from all around the table, and she turns to him next. “So. I think some of this also depends on you, as well as Rey. I know that the Knights of Ren and the Knights of the Storm aren’t on the best of terms. Would you be willing to approach any of them to present the plan?”

Gianni looks thoughtful. “Well, several have plans to move on at this point. But I get along okay with a couple of the guys who want to stay. I think I can talk them into it.” He raises an eyebrow in Rey’s direction. “I don’t think they’re your biggest hurdle at this point, anyhow.”

Rey nods. “Kylo. I’ll talk to him.” 

Leia notices her slight blush as she says this, and suddenly wonders exactly what methods Rey means to employ in the process of getting over the hurdle of her angry son. Well, they’re both adults, and it’s none of Leia’s business. She just doesn’t want them to hurt each other. 

“I can talk to him,” Leia reasons. “It’s a good plan, and since he’s stuck here as part of his deal to stay out of jail, he’d probably rather be working than just sitting around being pissed.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Han mumbles.

To her surprise, Luke chimes in. “No. I think Rey should talk to Ben. If anyone can convince him that it’s _his_ idea, she can.” He gives Rey a look. “And you and I should probably have a talk before you do.”

Leia sees the surprise in Rey’s face, but the young woman just nods agreement. “Sure. I don’t have anywhere I have to be after this.”

Finn looks a little disappointed. “I thought we were gonna marathon some Marvel?”

Rey shrugs. “You and Poe can hang out. I don’t need to third-wheel you guys tonight.”

And then Poe’s smile lights up the room behind Finn, and Leia realizes that even as the faire is in imminent peril, nothing stops budding romance. It gives her hope that they can pull this off, even though it’s all still very much a crapshoot.

She stands up. “We need to knock out one more thing before we break up tonight. There are two Knights of Ren shows and two Knights of the Storm shows per day. Say that the troupes agree to combine - that’s great, but no way are you going to be ready for this coming weekend. So how do we fill the empty slots?”

After a bit of less-than-heated discussion, the tentative plan is to suspend the jousts for the coming weekend, and to double up on the non-Knights of Ren shows at the main stage. It’s not ideal, but it’s also not likely to prevent anyone who had already planned to visit the faire this weekend from coming anyhow.

Leia thoughtfully watches Rey as she first hugs Poe and Finn, then spends a moment apparently giving instructions to Gianni (who immediately gets on his phone as he leaves The Castle), and finally as she heads over to talk to Luke, who has decamped to a solitary barstool.

“I’d love to be a fly on the wall for _that_ conversation,” Han comments. “What do you think Luke is up to now?”

Leia considers that last unsmoked cigarette yet again. “I have no idea. But I’d lay odds on it being something that could either be a great success, or a huge disaster, with little chance of in-between results.”

Han chuckles. “Well, he is your brother.”

She gives him a look. “And where were you expecting to sleep tonight, you and your fantastic sense of humor?”

He pulls out his wallet to settle up with Maz, and gives Leia a grin. “Wherever you’ll let me, Princess. You know that.”

**XOXOXOX**

As the group starts to break up and go their separate ways, Rey sees Luke go up to the bar for a word with Maz. After a few minutes the bespectacled little woman brings him a giant to-go cup full of blue liquid.

She sidles up next to him. “That looks interesting. New drink special?”

He finishes a long pull on the straw. “Hemp milk and blueberry smoothie.

She eyes it. “Sounds healthy.” 

She’s one-cheek already on a barstool when Luke hops off his. “Let’s walk and talk.” He takes off for the door, not waiting for her.

Rey’s butt is half-numb from sitting around during the meeting, so she doesn’t greatly mind. 

They walk for several yards through the tall, dry field grass in silence. Across the parking area, the faire already seems shrouded and silent. Rey reminds herself it’s a weekday, but still. The loss of several significant acts and vendors is painfully noticeable.

“So. This plan of yours,” Luke begins finally. “I’m assuming you have some sort of...idea...about how that particular conversation is going to go?”

“An idea, yeah. Probably not well. I mean, I’m not stupid.” Rey sidesteps a gopher hole. “But if I get all caught up in worrying about it I’m just going to screw it up.”

“So you’re just going to barge in there and tell Ben, look, buddy, here’s how it’s going to work?” Luke coughs a laugh. “I will tell you right now that if that’s the case, we’re all gonna wake up in the morning with the ruins of the entire place smoking around us.”

He has picked up the pace a bit, and Rey realizes they are skirting the campground and moving towards the wooded edges of Leia’s property. It occurs to her that since Luke arrived, she has no idea where he’s been living. “Well, you told Leia you thought it was a good idea that I talk to him. Was that just to get her _not_ to?” The toe of her boot catches in a tractor rut and she pitches forward. “Fuck.”

Luke’s hand is on her elbow, barely a touch, but it steadies her. “Not that. More like, make it okay for her not to.” He looks over at her, seemingly never needing to pay the slightest bit of attention as he steps over a log that would have sent Rey sprawling. “Leia has never been able to talk to Ben. She just has this...image of him in her head, that’s not really _him_. And he knows it, and it makes him feel like he’s never done anything but let her down because he’s never going to meet expectations that just aren’t realistic.”

Rey makes a face. “That’s totally not the impression I get. He seems like he doesn’t give a shit what either of his parents think. Or of what anybody thinks, for that matter.”

They reach the far side of the pond, and Luke takes a seat on the ferry dock, crossing his legs as agilely as a child. Rey sits across from him. 

“You’re wrong about that,” Luke says. “He cares, a lot more than he wants to. And he hates it.” He holds Rey’s gaze for a long moment of silence. “He cares what _you_ think.”

“I don’t really know what I think. I want him to...I want him to want to help Leia, help save the faire. I want him…” she trails off, and when she realizes that’s already a complete sentence, she blushes and looks down. “I like him, a lot. I know it’s crazy. We barely know each other and he’s just...not a nice guy.” A feeling she doesn’t want to name wells in her gut, and she presses a hand against her middle as if that will control it. “But something just sort of feels...right? When I’m with him, I mean. I can’t explain it.”

Luke is nodding slowly. “You two have some sort of bond. It’s noticeable, when you’re together, if someone cares to pay attention to the energy around you both.”

Rey starts to gather pebbles together, really just bits of gravel, creating a little mound in front of her. “Why is he so angry all the time?”

“Ah. Well. That’s a long story, and some of it isn’t mine to tell.” Luke selects a small stone from the pile, and with a smooth motion, flicks it into the water. It skips four or five times before sinking. “I did play a role, though, in the creation of the persona he uses to subsume that sensitive, shy boy who felt responsible for all of the mistakes made by the grownups in his life.”

There is a heaviness settling into the air, a humid, pre-storm torpor. “What mistakes?”

Luke sighs, and suddenly he seems an old man. “Oh, probably pretty common ones. Parents who loved each other a lot, but fought a lot, and never tried to hide it. Always one gone, or the other. A gifted child stuck in backwater schools, victimized a lot and never able to connect. On the move. Running from trouble, here and there.”

Rey shrugs. “None of that had anything to do with you, though.”

Luke tosses another pebble. He barely seems to apply any force and yet it skips merrily across the water, almost to the middle of the pond. “I came to help Leia for awhile, when Han was away and Ben was having trouble at school. She had tried everything, and the school psychologists and administrators were suggesting medication.” He looks up wryly. “I was adamant that he shouldn’t be given pills just to mask feelings he had a hard time dealing with.”

“So? It makes sense to worry about a kid getting medication, at least at first.”

“Perhaps. But I took the responsibility of working with him, teaching him to meditate, to calm himself and open his mind.”

“But those are good things, and -”

Luke holds up a hand. “I don’t disagree. They are. But I fought so hard against any medication, or therapy, or anything that didn’t come from his family. I thought we could handle it ourselves. I even talked Leia out of it when she wanted him to see someone.”

“Okay.”

“And...there were bullies, so I taught him to defend himself. To fight. He learned far, far too well.” 

Heat lightning flashes in the sky, and they both wait several seconds for thunder that doesn’t follow. “What happened?”

Luke takes a deep breath. “There was one boy who tormented him unmercifully. Just a big, dumb redneck kid acting out stuff he learned at home, I’m sure. Ben waited, and planned a sneak attack. Then he delivered the beating he’d been planning.” Luke throws a larger stone that hits the water like a bullet. “It took three people to pull him off the kid. Who ended up in the hospital for weeks. They thought he’d have brain damage.”

Rey sits motionless, hand over her mouth. Shaking his head, Luke continues. 

“I was horrified. He used things I had taught him to do this. It...I will admit I wasn’t thinking clearly afterward. I told Leia to let the police take charge of him, to let justice take its course. She was heartbroken, and she argued, but with that boy in the ICU in a coma, she agreed.”

“But...so, you taught him. It was good for him to learn how to fight, to defend himself. He decided to hurt someone with it. You’re not responsible for that.”

Luke’s smile is sad. “I’m one of those people who believes that if you provide the tool and teach its use, you do have some responsibility to the person who uses it. I gave Ben the tool, then I washed my hands of him after he used it. That’s on me.”

Silence grows between them again. Rey can see how heavily this has weighed on Luke, but she doesn’t know how to absolve him of the guilt he still carries. Because the way he explained it, he’s right. Some of this is on him.

Finally, she speaks. “So, Kylo - Ben - he’s still angry. How do I get through to him?”

Luke gets to his feet with somewhat less grace than he’d had when he sat, and his knees crack. He holds out a hand to her. “Oh, well. I’m not sure I really have any good suggestions there.”

To hell with calm and meditation, because she almost wants to belt him. “You said you did!”

The deeply-etched lines on his face smooth into a smile. “I said we should talk, and we have.” He moves off towards the trees. “If anything, I hope you make compassionate use of the information. When you talk to Ben.” 

He gives her a little salute, and then disappears into the woods. 

So, it’s official, the Skywalker/Solo men are _infuriating_. Rey turns and kicks the remaining pebbles off the dock. They hit the water with soft _plats_ and sink like the stones they are.

Another shock of heat lightning streaks across the sky, and the shape of Kylo’s trailer appears in sharp relief in the distance.

Compassion. She’s not sure if that’s the word she would use as she heads off in that direction.

When Kylo’s trailer comes into view, the first thing she notices is a large, jagged hole in the wall. A small refrigerator is lying spread-eagled and broken several feet away, its former contents strewn violently around it.

As she approaches, wide-eyed, Kylo exits through the door as though nothing is unusual.

She would be impressed by his calm demeanor if the sight of him shirtless; wearing soft, low-slung track pants didn’t cleave her tongue hopelessly to the roof of her mouth.

She swallows her own thirst a few times, and gestures towards the hole. “Really? Most of us would kill to have your air-conditioning.”

He turns to look at the hole as though seeing it for the first time. Then he shrugs. “It still works.” He bends down to pick something up from the ground. “You want a beer?”

As he holds out an intact bottle, she notices bruises and cuts all over his hands. Clearly the the fridge wasn’t the only thing to go through the wall.

Unable to help herself, she catches his fingers gently and turns his hand over to look at his bloody knuckles. She can feel the barest tremor, as though he has to fight himself not to pull away from her. “That looks like it hurts,” she comments, trying to keep her voice light. Free of pity. Because the kind of compassion Kylo needs right now, she realizes, is the kind he can overlook like it’s not even there.

He lets her run her thumb across his palm, the only part of his hand that seems unscathed, before pulling away. “It’s fine.”

Rey takes the beer from him and sets it down. “I’ve kind of had enough beer, for the moment. I just came from a meeting at the Castle. To plan out the next few weekends.”

Kylo just nods. “Right. The big plan to save this shithole.” He bends to scoop up the bottle on the ground, giving her a few seconds to appreciate the stretch and flex of his back and shoulders. He winces as he pops the cap on the edge of a nearby wooden picnic table, then takes a few swallows. “So,” he says, wiping foam from his lip. “How does it feel to be part of the in-crowd? The big happy fucked-up Takodana family?”

His phrasing speaks volumes, that he sees them more as her family than his own. “I dunno,” she say. “I haven’t felt part of something in a long time. Not since my early Jedi Exile tour days.” He snorts at the band name, but she continues. “And that wasn’t the same. Here...maybe I can help. Maybe I can make a difference.”

Kylo shakes his head, and his tone is level. “You can’t. This place is over, and it’s about time.” He shrugs. “Don’t take it personally. You can do a lot better, I guarantee it.”

Rey presses her lips together. “Maybe I don’t want to do a lot better. Maybe I want to be exactly where I am.”

Kylo shrugs again and sits down on the picnic table. “Forgive me if I don’t share the sentiment.” He rests his forearms on his knees, the bottle dangling from his injured fingers. 

It seems like the wrong moment to broach the plan for united performances in the coming weeks. She knows she’s going to have to come up with a way to make him see how good they can all be together, to see the entertainment potential. Get him interested, so that he wants to be part of it. 

She has no idea how to do that. So she climbs atop the table next to him, thigh touching his, companionable. 

“How are you doing?” she asks finally.

“Peachy,” he grits out, his tone making the old-fashioned word dark and angry. 

Rey nods. She’s still not sure what to say, but she can feel heat and energy pouring off him, curling and sizzling around her. She reaches out and gently snags his pinkie finger with her own. “I know you hate it, but I’m glad you’re still here,” she says. 

He doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t pull away, either. 

“There’s nothing you can do to make me give a fuck about this place,” he says finally. “I’m only here so I don’t have to spend the rest of the summer stuck in that anal boil of a county lockup.”

A wave of despair threatens to wash over Rey but she rides it. Of course he doesn’t give a fuck. Why would he? She shouldn’t expect him to. Luke’s words play again in her mind: _“...he’s never going to meet expectations that just aren’t realistic.”_

So she won’t broach the subject of getting him to help with additional training and combined performances. She won’t ask him to care about any of that. Not right now, anyhow.

She nudges him gently, and leans forward so that he has to look at her. “Do you give a fuck about going out with me again, then?”

This, she’s pleased to note, takes him by surprise. His hand spasms against hers and he grimaces before pulling away. “What?”

“We kind of didn’t get to finish our date. So do you want to try again? Because I do.”

“Uh.” He stares at her. “Are you asking me out?”

This isn’t her original plan, but it’s still a plan. More than that, it’s what she wants. “Yeah. This time I pick the place.”

He looks like he’s not even aware of the expression on his face, which is a sort of mashup of frowning confusion and a suppressed smile. He looks down, hair falling across his face. “Okay, I guess.”

“Oh, are you sure? Do you need to check your schedule or something?” She puts on an offended face. Dealing with Kylo is an exercise in both self-control and self-esteem. 

And infinite patience. She realizes the joke may have fallen flat because she can feel his body tense where it’s touching hers. So she leans in. Closer. Tucks a couple of strands of dark hair behind his ear, and whispers, “You'll like it, I promise.”

His jaw tips just slightly towards her. She sees his throat work a hard swallow, and feels her own do the same thing involuntarily. She grazes his cheek as she moves closer, a tease of stubble against the sensitive tip of her nose. 

He turns and meets her lips, the butterfly touch of bitten, pliant skin on hers. She tilts her head to slot their mouths together, to breathe warmth into him and receive it back.

A chaste kiss, and yet so far from it. Her entire body feels like it’s unfolding, opening, ripening against the barest touch of his tongue. It conjures a phantom sensation elsewhere - _the wet rasp of his mouth, her most sensitive flesh_ \- and she shudders so hard that he pulls back, eyes finally meeting hers.

She has to break the moment, because if she doesn’t she’ll drag him into the wrecked trailer and fuck him until they both ache from it. And as much as every electrified atom of her body is online, screaming for it, she’s not ready. _They’re_ not.

She clears her throat and moves back. “So. I’m supposed to meet Finn for….a thing.” 

When she looks up at him, his gaze is shuttered again, unreadable. And then he nods, and she knows that he won’t call out her bad excuse. “I guess you’ll let me know, then? About our second date?”

Rey heaves in a deep breath. “Count on it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I will.” Then he unfolds his long body from the picnic table and heads for the trailer.

 

X0x0x0x

When they begin _Captain America: Civil War_ , Finn sits next to Poe on the dining banquette (which is basically his bed) with the bowl of popcorn in between them. BB8 falls asleep within the first ten minutes. 

Halfway through, the refreshed popcorn bowl sits on the tiny table with the laptop and Finn sits hip-to-hip with Poe. Finn is the one who haltingly inches his hand over and slots their fingers together, clasped hands resting on his thigh. BB8 wakes up with a desperate need to use the facilities and Poe accidentally knocks the bowl off the table on his way to the camper door. Finn laughs and pauses the movie for everyone to take a pee-break.

When they settle back in with a new bowl of popcorn, Finn takes a moment to appreciate how easily they fall in together. Poe’s arm across the back of the seat behind his shoulders. Finn’s fingertips resting on Poe’s cargo short clad thigh. They’re not exactly snuggling, but they’re definitely very close and it’s very comfortable. 

Three-fourths of the way through, just as Finn is beginning to develop a legitimate thirst for Bucky Barnes, he’s brought out of the fantasy world by Poe shifting against him. Just a small motion, Poe’s fingers curling around his shoulder, hugging Finn just a bit closer. There’s a hint of earthy soap noticeable beneath the overwhelming fragrance of microwave popcorn and Finn breathes it in as deeply as possible without drawing attention to himself. He tries to glimpse Poe without getting caught in the act, too. A simple tilt of his head, watching from the corner of his eye as Poe smiles and frowns and rather often glances toward Finn and that makes Finn’s face flare up like a torch and he has to look away for a moment to compose himself. But within a matter of minutes, he’s back to observing his seatmate. Observing and thinking. 

Because Poe was going to kiss him Sunday night. Finn’s sure of it. And it’s been a shitstorm since Rey’s call and Poe hasn’t brought it up again and Finn’s been either preoccupied or still too scared to mention it. Which is stupid, because Poe made his move _after_ Finn confessed everything about his past. Hell, Poe knew all that crap beforehand and was still hitting on him so obviously Poe’s cool with it and is still interested in him. Right? And right now, they’re alone, totally almost cuddled up on his bed together, watching movies and holding hands and holy shit there is absolutely no good reason for Finn _not_ to continue what they started Sunday night. 

So Finn leans to the side and kisses Poe.

Or, more accurately, he sorta smears his closed mouth across the corner of Poe’s downturned lips and leans back to wait for the fallout. 

Poe is definitely surprised by the sudden move. Finn actually hears the little gasp and kinda smiles at the older man’s wide eyed reaction, an anxious quirk of his mouth as he tries to think of something to say. He shifts his focus from those luscious lips to Poe’s tan throat, watching the Adam’s Apple bob up and down. “ Was that- was that, you know, okay with you? I mean, you were okay with it? With it being me? Me kissing you?” Finn’s voice is barely audible by the time his rambling winds down. This is not going well. Not that he thought it would go well, because he’s himself and these kinds of things never really go well when he’s actively involved, but he has to do this because he can’t just expect Poe to hold his hand and lead him around because that’s a surefire way for Poe to get bored of him real quick and Finn is going to do everything in his limited power to avoid that. He should probably start by not getting sucked into a long mental rant. Again. “ Was that okay?” 

Poe breathes out, smile stuttering back to life on his face, then chuckles quietly. “ Yeah, I was okay with it. I was more than okay with it.” The smile doesn’t exactly fall, maybe _soften_ is a more accurate description; an open expression, non-judgmental. “ How about you? ” 

“ I’m fine. Absolutely. Fine with it. Yeah.” Finn nods vigorously, tapping his fingers on his knee. Instead of diminishing after making his move, the knot of anxiety in his gut is swelling bigger, threatening to send two bowls of partially digested popcorn back upstairs. 

“ So, we’re both okay with kissing?” Poe tilts his head to the side.

“ Yes.” Finn is distracted by the cute head tilt.

“ Each other?” Poe is teasing him. The smooth bastard. 

“ Yeah.” Finn is jiggling his leg now, bouncing on the ball of his right foot. “ Yeah, we’re good. We’re good, so…” This was a stupid idea. He should’ve just kept watching the movie and tried for a less awkward goodnight kiss instead of this verbal flailing.

All those thoughts are brought to an abrupt halt as Finn finds his mouth covered by Poe’s lips.

Yeah. He’s all about letting Poe rescue him from his flirting fail. 

Finn lets his brain turn off for a moment so he can just enjoy the warm press of lips- Poe’s are dry and soft and salty from the popcorn- and the gentle slide of Poe’s hand along his jaw, thumb brushing slowly over his cheek stubble. The unpleasant feeling in his belly morphs into a lovely warmth that overflows into his chest, his heart thudding against his ribs. Finn gets his own hand up and rests it on the curve of Poe’s neck, thrilled at the similar rapid pulse under the thin skin. Something pulls tight in his belly- in a very nice way- at the thought that _he’s_ the reason Poe’s heartbeat is happily tripping along, drumming against his fingertips. 

After a few heated minutes of contented smooching, Finn may or may not make a small pathetic noise in the back of his throat when Poe’s tongue runs lightly along the seam of his lips and Poe’s smile breaks them apart. Which is probably for the best, since Finn needs the oxygen to get his brain working again so he doesn’t stumble his way through his first make-out session with The Man of his Dreams. 

Poe gives a little laugh and brushes the tips of their noses together and Finn absolutely fucking melts, another pitiful sound escaping his lips as he closes his eyes, sinking into the sensations. The older man continues the tiny motions and Finn has the distinct feeling that Poe is watching him right now, and that thought sends another wave of heat crashing through his body, swarming through his middle and ending at the tips of his ears. His eyes flutter open just enough for Finn to look up through his lashes and confirm that, yes, Poe is watching him. And not just watching him, but looking at him with this incredibly arousing mixture of desire and fondness that Finn hopes is evident in his own gaze. “ Still good?” Poe questions. 

“ Still good.” Finn grabs Poe’s face and dives forward to renew the kiss, meeting Poe’s mouth with a click of teeth and no grace whatsoever. And Finn doesn’t care. All that matters is that Poe is letting him do this. 

In fact, Poe isn’t just letting Finn smoosh against him. Poe is actively holding Finn’s heated cheeks, tilting his own head to complement Finn’s awkward angle as their tongues slide and twist against each other. Holding him still long enough to establish a pleasurable kissing rhythm, compensating for his overeagerness. Finn is appreciative and tries to calm his crazy self down; relaxing his hands, easing the pressure between their lips. He can’t do anything about the trembling that he is certain is painfully noticeable. 

Poe confirms those suspicions by covering Finn’s shaking hands with his own calloused palms, thumbs smoothing over the backs.

Finn has no idea how long they’ve been loitering on the edge of first base, but he eventually becomes aware of two things simultaneously. One, there is an epic battle happening on the laptop. Two, Poe’s fingers are resting on the sensitive skin of Finn’s waist, just beneath his t-shirt hem. They’re not moving in any particular direction, just stroking softly across the skin and denim on Finn’s side. Poe’s waiting, Finn realizes. Waiting for him to accept or reject. To move forward or stay right there for as long as Finn feels comfortable. 

That knowledge alone punches a little moan out of him. Finn tightens his grip in the back of Poe’s shirt, pulling the material up, sliding his free hand down to Poe’s exposed waistband, thumb hooking over the thick cotton to brush overheated skin that instantly breaks out into goosebumps. The older man licks into Finn’s mouth and pushes his hand further up under the t-shirt to splay his fingers in the small of Finn’s back. Pulling him closer, practically in Poe’s lap. And then Finn nearly loses his damn mind when Poe ends the kiss to slide his mouth over Finn’s jaw and then to his neck where Poe latches onto the spot just below Finn’s ear and begins a gentle, yet determined, suction. A jolt of electricity streaks down his spine and sparks along his growing hard-on. 

The tiniest bit of teeth on his earlobe and Finn can’t take it anymore. He rolls forward onto one knee, swinging his other leg over Poe’s lap and settling down with both hands cupping Poe’s cheeks for a deep, searing kiss. One that leaves Finn lightheaded and Poe shivering beneath him.

There’s so much heat. Warm skin, light sheen of sweat springing up on foreheads and necks, hot breath traded back and forth with slick agile tongues. Finn chokes on a swear when Poe reaches around him and squeezes his ass with both hands. 

Distantly, Finn can hear the end credits rolling and the occasional snuff from BB8 in his makeshift bed of towels near the door. Background noise for the rasp of denim against cotton, whisper of cotton against bare skin. 

He’s got a good grind going on, limited only by the table edge bumping against his lower back when he isn’t careful. Poe relocates his hands to Finn’s thighs after banging his knuckles on it a few times. Finn likes the blunt nails digging in through the denim, hitching his hips higher, pulling him closer. His jeans are uncomfortably tight now, his cock pressing against the thin material of his boxers and the zipper of his jeans. There’s an answering hardness rubbing against him when Poe bucks up into the cradle of his thighs and they both moan loud enough to elicit a corresponding whimper from the corgi in the corner.

It’s been a long while since Finn has done anything with another person. He hasn’t even jerked off in the shower unless he was certain Rey was preoccupied somewhere on the other side of the faire grounds for an hour or two. So he’s not surprised that he’s reached his breaking point in an embarrassingly short period of time. He’s got to slow down or this will all be over and there’s never a guarantee that they’ll have another chance. “ Poe, w-wait, wait a minute.”

The response is subtle, but instantaneous. Poe’s hips completely still, his hands unclench from under Finn’s thighs, his head falls back just enough to for him to look up into Finn’s eyes. “ You okay?” Concern and understanding written clearly in his expression. Giving him space without pulling away. Finn loves that about Poe.

“ Yeah, yeah.” Finn nods and forces his fingers to relax on the other man’s shoulders. “ Just, uhm, “ he swallows. “ Just need to, uhm, slow down. A bit.” He drops his forehead to rest on Poe’s, nose to nose once again. He can barely catch his breath. “ Little too hyped up, ya know?” 

“ Same here, buddy.” Poe quirks a lopsided grin through his own panting, angling his head just enough to brush their lips together in a series of barely there kisses. “ We don’t have to do anything else. There’s no pressure.”

“ Dear God, no!” Finn groans, and judging by Poe’s drawn bows, the exclamation has confused the older man. Finn shakes his head and tries for more coherency. “ I mean, God, I _want_ to do more! I do, holy shit I really _really_ do!” He’s getting himself worked up again. Taking a deep- somewhat calming- breath, Finn looks Poe straight in the eye and mutters, “I just want this to last longer than the end credits.” 

“ Finishing quick isn’t so bad.” Poe slides his palms up and down Finn’s sides in a slow soothing motion. “ I’ve always been pretty partial to the afterglow, myself.” Teasing again.

Finn rolls his eyes and grunts, pushing one hand into Poe’s thick hair to play with the curls. The silky texture is almost enough to distract him the growing ache in his crotch. But then his hips jerk forward of their own accord, and Poe’s respond in kind, and the accompanying burst of sensation ripples up and down Finn’s body. “ Poe, please.” Begging tone, bordering on a whine. Very unattractive.

Poe seems to relent, slipping both arms around Finn to pull him into a hug. “ It doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” He nuzzles against Finn’s neck, but keeps his lower half still. “ I’m just as keyed up as you are, and I’ve been waiting _weeks_ to find out what kind of amazing sounds you make when you come undone.” 

The low purr of Poe’s voice nearly undoes Finn right then and there. He shudders, a full on body tremor, and takes a few moments to get his brain and mouth to cooperate. “ You, too. Wanna hear you, too.” Finn rocks froward, not quite grinding again, but definitely seeking some friction. He swallows, then manages, “ How-h-how do you..uhm, want to...?” 

Poe chuckles softly and drags one hand from Finn’s side to rest on the front of Finn’s jeans, rubbing lightly at the hard swelling under the denim. “ Show me yours, I’ll show you mine?” 

Finn literally chokes on his own spit as he tries to gasp and swallow simultaneously. A few small coughs clears his throat and Poe patiently waits it out until Finn drops his hand into Poe’s lap. The outline under the worn khaki is clear and firm, and a careful squeeze from Finn causes a lovely moan to spill from Poe’s mouth. Finn can barely get his fingers on Poe’s belt buckle fast enough. 

There’s a few minutes of fumbling fingers as belts are unbuckled and zippers unzipped and buttons unbuttoned. Sloppy kisses are generously scattered throughout. 

There’s another solid five minutes of palming and stroking hot hard flesh through two different forms of cotton: Poe’s dark blue plaid boxers and Finn’s dark grey boxer-briefs. 

Poe is the first to push the fabric down and expose a swathe of mahogany colored skin. Finn’s breath stutters to a halt at the touch, his eyes fluttering closed ad he fists a handful of shirt on Poe’s shoulder. Another swear word under his breath, another attempt at pulling down the soft cotton waistband to reveal black curls and pale golden skin flushed dark along a very nicely shaped uncut member. 

Finn only has a few seconds to admire Poe before the older man has them both in a spit slick hand, stroking slowly. Absolutely amazing view. Deepest brown and ruddy tan nearly indistinguishable in the shadows between their bodies, shiny crowns packed tightly together in Poe’s fist, flashing in and out of sight as Poe pumps them both in an increasingly frantic rhythm. Finn licks his palm and adds it to the mix, covering the heads while Poe concentrates on stroking the shafts. 

It is fucking glorious. 

Finn lets himself get swept away by the tender touches, the wet sounds. the inspiring thought that he’s the reason Poe looks so utterly awed when he spurts over their combined hands. Finn’s sight greys a bit at the edges before flashes of white heat explode behind his closed eyelids. The splashes of wet warmth on his hand and stomach barely register over Poe’s calloused hand slowly wringing the last shreds of bliss from his orgasm before allowing him to slip out of their grasp. He’s still panting heavily when the body beneath him tenses and Finn does his best to remain aware enough to help Poe through his orgasm, keeping a steady rhythm until Poe hunches forward and dislodges both their hands from his lap. 

They fall into each other, a heap of sweaty satisfaction basking in the peace of afterglow.

That is instantly disrupted by the trailer door being thrown wide open and Rey stepping up. “ I hope you saved me some popcorn. I could smell it all the way to Le _OHMYGODI’MSOSORRY_!” 

“ Rey!” Finn didn’t think he could actually move that fast post-coitusl, especially in his awkward position. Not that Rey would’ve seen much before practically falling out of the trailer and slamming the door shut. “ Knock first!”

“ I didn’t think you’d actually be _doing_ anything!” Rey’s voice is still high-pitched and clear through the door. First in shock, then in triumph. “ Oh my god! I win! I win the betting pool!” 

“ The what?!” Finn shouts as he desperately tries to clean them off and get his pants back up and vacate Poe’s lap and figure out why the hell there’s a betting pool involving him and Poe and failing to accomplish anything other than being flustered, embarrassed, and just plain aggravated. 

But Poe is laughing so hard he can hardly breathe, his whole body shaking against Finn, making an even worse mess between them. 

And Finn decides that makes getting caught with his pants down totally worth it. 

**XOXOXOX**

There’s a banging on the door. 

Han pauses on the landing, but Leia waves him on up toward her- their- bedroom. “ Luke probably forgot his key. Again.” Leia grudgingly walks backward down the three steps into the entry, turns, and heads back through the house toward the kitchen. Beyond fucking irritated. Not only has Luke forgotten his key, but he’s knocking on the back door which is so much further away, Christ. 

As Leia steps into her kitchen, she pauses to stare through the broken window blinds in the back door. Because whoever is outside is most certainly _not_ her brother.

There are glimpses of lilac hair and an obnoxiously bright tie-dye shirt beaming in the porch light. A woman’s voice, higher than Leia’s but equally firm and barely muffled by the glass and wood barrier. “ Leia, the mosquitoes are eating me alive out here! Hurry the fuck up!” 

Realization hits Leia as hard as the wave of confusion at the visitor’s sudden appearance. She trots to the back door, sliding the bolts and throwing it wide open. “ Amilyn? What the fuck?” 

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is cribbed from a poem by Renaissance poet Michael Drayton. LITERATURE, Y'ALL!!!
> 
> YOU GUYS. <3 We thank you for reading and commenting!! This is Frack, for once, and while I haven't been around as much I've been seeing all the love you give our silly story and it has made me so, so happy!!! We hope you like this new chapter!
> 
> And give it up for Hato, who deserves all the chocolate, tea, and love from everyone for keeping the story going and for her patience with me. She is literally the best, ever. <3


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